


Longshot

by melliejellie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Consent is Sexy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family Fluff, Friendship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Reunions, Slow Burn, Writer!Tsukishima, bc it's the most important, cats are also important, cigarette use mentioned, filled with OCs because when you age you meet new people, hipster nonsense, humor during sex, musician!Kuroo, scandalous hand holding, tattoo artist!Kuroo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 109,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliejellie/pseuds/melliejellie
Summary: Both Kuroo Tetsurou and Tsukishima Kei are on the cusp of something big. Kuroo's band is getting more attention lately and his tattoo artistry is growing. Tsukishima has the novels he's co-writing and, much to his surprise, they're actually starting to make money. In the middle of their growing successes, a chance encounter makes Kuroo and Tsukishima's paths cross again.It's a story of reunions, learning from past mistakes, and hustling for what they want in life -- but will that include one another?(It will. Of course it will. That's why we're all here. Do join me.)Updates every 2ish weeks.





	1. Hey. Hi. Hey, Tsukishima

_Kuroo_

“Sorry, sorry -- I just need to --” Kuroo knows he’s holding up the busy lunch line, but there’s no way he’s walking out of here with his shoulder bag, this huge paper bag of food, and all of those drinks without carefully arranging everything first. He’s already the youngest and newest artist at the shop. He doesn’t need to return covered in everyone’s sodas and bits of burritos. 

There’s a pecking order at the tattoo shop and he’s definitely at the bottom. _For now_ , he thinks, finally shifting everything so he’s confident he can make it back. He nods apologetically a few more times to the staff and the people behind him in line and then walks back out into the smothering humid air of a Tokyo summer.

Their creaky front door squeaks when he walks back in but it’s muffled by the metal music playing on the speakers -- softly, Kuroo notes with a chuckle. As the artist/owner of the shop always says, “it’s loud enough that people know what we’re about, but soft enough that I can focus. We’re not animals.”

“Here’s your burrito, Ibuki-san!” Kuroo singsongs to the woman behind their front desk. He fishes in the bag for her lunch and sets her drink in front of her. He quickly checks out the line of business cards on display on her desk and feels a puff of pride when he looks at his for probably the tenth time that day. The wall behind her is filled with awards won and paintings done by the other artists. Soon his stuff will be up there, too. He knows it.

“Thank you!” She sings back. “Oh and your 3:00 called.” She says, her voice returning to it’s normal tone. “They’re going to be thirty minutes late.” Ibuki is a walking package of contradictions. She’s cute and petite but covered in tattoos and will drop the filthiest jokes at the worst times. She’s silenced the entire shop on more than one occasion, cackling as she doesn’t just step over a line, but crushes it under her heavy, black boots.

Kuroo groans. “There goes my break before my 6:00. I’m never getting out of here today, am I?”

“Nope! If I leave the keys, can you lock up?” The phone rings. She scrunches up her face in annoyance but shoots him an appreciative glance before answering in her overly-cheery tone she only uses for customers. 

Kuroo nods and mouths the words “I’ll lock up,” before continuing through the doorway to the studio.

Big boss isn’t there today so he struts through, waving at the other two artists before he realizes a client’s settled in. He stops several feet away, not wanting to intrude. “Whoops - hey man. You want me to --”

“Yea, just put it in the fridge.” Iwaguchi says in his rough voice. The older artist, hair peppered with hints of age, pauses for a moment to blink and wipe the client’s arm where a new tattoo is just beginning to take shape. Kuroo stops dead, a jolt of wonder flashing through his head as he looks at the client’s back. Blond hair. Tall. Black glasses.

Nah, there’s no way. Plus, this guy’s hair is shaved on the side and, let’s face it, the man’s got a sleeve of tattoos. That guy would never.

Kuroo shakes off the ridiculous thought and walks back towards the only other artist in the studio today. Nakayama’s sketching when he walks up, her newly-dyed bright, blue hair standing out even against all the art on the walls.

He holds out the last burrito that isn’t his in the bag. She looks up, excitement dawning on her face. “Food! Yes. Thank you.” She sets down her sketchbook and rolls over in her chair, away from her station. “Perfect timing. I got, like, almost an hour until my next.”

“Same. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten yet today. Got up too late.” Together they settle in to the tiny backroom with one folding table squeezed into the center.

“Did you have a show?” Nakayama asks, unwrapping her burrito like it’s a treasure, already reaching for the basket of sauce packets they keep on a shelf in the backroom. 

From where he sits down, Kuroo can see the client’s back and just a little of his profile. Impossible scenarios run through his head again. There’s no way. “Yea, I didn’t get back until after three.”

“Christ. I don’t know how you stay up that late.” She mumbles through bites of her burrito. “I used to hang that hard, now I’m like, ‘it’s midnight - where’s my bed? - I want my pajamas.’”

Kuroo snorts. “It’s not that late. And like, we’re not getting the prime spots. There’s the opener, yea? Then the main act, and then, when it’s late, once everyone’s drunk and thinking about going home - bam - there we are.”

Nakayama laughs. “Which band of yours played last night?”

“Glory days.”

She sneers. “That name is still so cheesy.”

“No it isn’t! Plus, if it was - which it isn’t, mind you - but if it was, I could blame it on the fact that we started when I was a freshman in college. Freshman are fools.”

“What’s your other one?”

Kuroo snickers. He loves this one. “Late to the Party. Literally we named it that just so we could say ‘great to see you all here tonight. We are late to the party.’ It’s funny every single time.”

“I bet it is.”

The conversation lulls as they remember how hungry they both are and Kuroo finds his gaze drifting back into the studio, especially when the client stretches and Kuroo’s able to catch a little more of his face. He bites the inside of his mouth when he stares for too long and he turns away, ready to try and shake that thought once and for all. He’d never be here. The odds are impossible.

And if when lunch is over and he’s prepping his station, if he keeps glancing over it’s because he admires Iwaguchi, wants to emulate his style and learn from someone with experience, not because he’s trying to figure out if it’s really him. Kuroo drops a roll of paper towels and it rolls across the floor. He hears Nakayama chuckle behind him.

Three o’clock rolls around and Kuroo’s ready. His tablet sketch is done. He has a few variants ready just in case, plus a few color schemes to present. He’s started to figure out that a good chunk of his clients end up wanting something a little different than what they originally said. It’s awesome when he shows them what he was thinking and they light up. Kuroo likes it when something he brought to life based on their ideas ends up being on their skin forever.

Iwaguchi’s near finishing the outline and shading on the man’s arm. From the looks of it, they’ve been at it for a while. It’s a half-sleeve, working in some older pieces. Kuroo guesses the man’s going to have to come back to finish. It seems like it’s building towards full-color.

He’s tried not to stare, honestly, but he’s had nothing left to do for the past twenty minutes or so and he just can’t shake the thought. That, like, has to be Tsukishima. Kuroo feels it in his guts. If it is him, and Kuroo’s almost certain at this point, then he looks way different, but the cut of his jaw, the fluffy blond hair at the top, the way his shoulders sort of stoop from being way too tall, way too young - it all screams Tsukishima.

It’d be wild if it is him. They haven’t spoken in - what - ten years?

Iwaguchi sits up straight, stretching his back and shoulders. “You wanna go take a look?”

“Sure.” The man responds. And now Kuroo’s almost positive that’s Tsukishima. It sounds like him. Kuroo’s whole body tenses, his face surely frozen with some idiotic expression, as the man turns around to walk towards the full-length mirror in the studio.

The man looks up. Stops short. Stares back. His brows knit together. “Kuroo-san?”

Yep. Definitely, 100% Tsukishima Kei.

Kuroo lifts his hand and gives a tiny wave. “Hey. Hi. Hey, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima keeps staring forward. Kuroo watches his eyes drift up and down his body. He’d feel weird, but he’s doing the exactly same thing. It’s amazing what ten years can do to someone. 

Tsukishima’s filled out a little over the years. He’s still slender and sharp collar bones poke out from his t-shirt, but his shoulders seem broader. His face, though -- If Kuroo had just passed him on the street he’s not sure he would have recognized him. He’s grown into his features. He’s less angular, a bit softer around the edges, but with cheekbones for days. The hair on the top of his head is like he remembered, but the sides are shaved close to his head and a single black, stud earring frames the side of his face. Those glasses, though -- those glasses are shockingly exactly the same.

Suddenly very self-conscious, he wonders how he looks to Tsukishima -- what has ten years done Tsukishima’s memory of him. He’s not sure what to do with his hands. He stops waving and them awkwardly shifts them around in front of him before they come to rest stiffly on his thighs. “How are ya?”

“Good. How have you been?” Tsukishima’s voice is slow and robotic.

“Good.” A silence quickly follows and Kuroo’s aware of Nakayama’s eyes boring holes into his back. Even Iwaguchi is giving them strong side-eye while he pretends to tidy up. It feels too weird just hearing the music, the two of them staring at each other. He has to talk. “It’s been a while.”

“Yea.”

“Like ten years.”

“That seems about right.

“Yep.”

“Well I’m gonna--” Tsukishima points at the mirror across the room and turns to keep walking towards it.

Kuroo lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He spins in his chair to see Nakayama staring at him, her eyes blown wide and a mischievous grin on her face.

In a near-slient whisper she teases, “Haaaaa - what the fuck was that?”

Kuroo mouths back, his face all scrunched, “I don’t know.”

“You’re so awkward.” She tips her chin up. “I got you.”

Kuroo shakes his head in a fierce _no_ and then spins back around. He grabs his tablet and pretends to be very busy flipping through his sketches from earlier. He keeps glancing up through his eyelashes at what Tsukishima’s doing in the mirror.

From what he can see, the piece is incredible. Kuroo wouldn't expect anything less from Iwaguchi. The man’s been tattooing for well over a decade. Tsukishima’s too far away for him to see all the finer details, but he can make out an open book at the bottom, out of which is pouring all kinds of cosmic-looking stuff. He wants to see it up close, but there is no way that’s happening.

When Tsukishima starts to walk back to the chair, Nakayama shouts, “How do you two know each other?”

Kuroo’s whole body tenses. He forces himself to sit up, tilt back his head, and paints on a practiced charming expression. “Oh, from high school. We played volleyball.” It’s clear from her expression that Nakayama finds that fact adorable.

Tsukishima starts to gather his things - a discarded hoodie, a shoulder bag. “Different high schools.”

“But we played each other.”

“Rival schools or something like that.” Tsukishima stands up straight and Iwaguchi gets up to follow him to the front desk to check out. There’s a hint of something like a smile on his face, hidden beneath layers of surprise.

Kuroo sits back, crossing his arms with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel yet. “I taught him everything he knows.”

“Well that can’t be true.” Tsukishima stands up straight, clicks his tongue, and a smirk emerges. Kuroo remembers that look with a sudden, intense fondness.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I was better than you.”

Kuroo bursts out laughing and Tsukishima’s smirk gets bigger. He takes a few steps towards the doorway. Kuroo realizes that his chance to talk to this ghost from his past is quickly disappearing and he doesn’t quite want that. Not yet. “The new ink looks good. Iwaguchi’s one of the best.”

“Thanks.” Tsukishima runs his hand up the back of his neck. He’s still inching closer to the doorway.

The rest of Kuroo’s words tumble out before he can stuff them back in. “Want to grab a beer sometime? Give us a chance to catch up?”

Tsukishima’s grin grows a little lopsided. His eyes dart around the room. “Well, I don’t know, we just--”

Kuroo doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. He waves a dismissive hand, smiles wide. “Ah yea, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Good seeing you, though.”

“Yea, you too. See you around.”

Then he ducks through the doorway back out to the front with Iwaguchi in tow. Kuroo grimaces, expecting the older man to have some choice comments about that exchange when he gets back. He already doesn’t want to turn around and see whatever stupid expression Nakayama’s making at the moment.

But she’s never been one to wait. “I have five minutes until my next appointment gets here and I need you to answer one simple question--” Kuroo feels her breath on his neck and he swipes her away. “--why were you being so awkward?”

He rolls his chair a few inches away and spins. “I wasn’t!”

“Oh my god, yes you were. Who is he?” She balances her elbows on her knees and holds her head in her hands like she’s expecting a story.

“Just an old friend. Not even that. Just a guy I practiced with sometimes. Our teams were, like, friendly rivals.”

Kuroo knows he’s right. Tsukishima wasn’t really ever a friend. They were friendly, as much as someone who wasn’t that freckled guy could be friendly with Tsukishima, but they were never friends. They never really talked about anything outside of volleyball or school. And once Nationals were over and Kuroo went on to college, they lost touch fairly quickly.

Nakayama looks disappointed. “That’s it? I thought with how weird you were being there was way more there.”

Kuroo shakes his head. “I was just surprised. He didn’t seem like the tattoo type back then. More like the sour but snarky, straight-laced kind of guy.”

“And that’s really all there is?”

“Yea. Knew each other, kinda. Lost touch. Then - bam - surprised.”

Nakayama rolls her eyes. “Boring.” She smirks. “I was hoping for something juicier to help the day go by faster.” She starts to roll back to her station. “I’ll just invent an interesting story in my head and tell you about it later.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll write a song about it.”

“Ooh, promise?”

“You know it.”

 

***

 

When he finally locks up and heads home that night, Kuroo’s mind keeps wandering to the last time he saw Tsukishima in person. Sure, they texted for a little while after - before that eventually stopped, too - but the last time he actually saw the blond was at Nationals in his third year. He remembers the two of them talking trash during the game and Tsukishima thanking him at some point. He knows that last bit happened because it damn well almost knocked him off his feet.

Right after the game, as Kuroo tried not to wallow in the sting of a loss, the two of them found some time to keep the provoking banter going, but both of them were already so tired and Tsukishima needed to prepare for yet another game. Kuroo promised to watch Karasuno play and come say hey to him after. Tsukishima said he didn’t care either way, but he grinned as he waved and caught up the rest of Karasuno.

After it was all said and done, Kuroo did try to talk to him. He found Tsukishima surrounded by his teammates and their families near the front lobby. They looked exhausted, but proud. Tsukishima looked like a completely different person than that apathetic teenager he remembered from the training camp. 

Kuroo hovered for a while, waiting for his chance, but ultimately decided it wasn’t his place to intrude. This was their moment. He sent Tsukishima a text, found Kenma, and went home.

 

***

 

When Kuroo finally makes it to his front door, he sighs and heads straight for his couch. A quiet night to himself has been rare lately. It’s mostly for good reasons. Glory Days has been getting a bit of a following in a few neighborhoods. The bars they haunt have been booking them more regularly and word seems to be spreading. 

Most of that is Kenma’s doing. Kuroo sends him a thanks once he notices all their new Twitter followers from the past few days.

Kenma’s quick to reply--  
**Kenma Kitty [21:42]:** what? Like it’s hard? People are easy to influence once you understand what works.

Kenma still sees life like a game, one that he’s crushing, apparently. Though he’s not on stage as a part of the band, _Kenma would never be in front of that many people anymore_ , he’s still the brain behind Kuroo’s heart and soul. Some things never change and Kuroo’s grateful for that.

So lately, more gigs has meant more practices. More practices mean less time to just zone out and exist. And when Glory Days isn’t playing, then he’s been trying to get Late to the Party into niche punk bars so they can jam some stress away. Again, good things, but sometimes Kuroo just wants to stare at his ceiling. And he does, with the beer he picked up at the convenient store on the way home, until the grime of the day and his tense shoulders beg for a shower. He takes the beer with him.

Kuroo always sings in the shower, no doubt bothering his neighbor on the other side of some very thin walls, but it’s a space where Kuroo feels like he gets some of his best creative work done. Tonight he’s singing bars from a new song into the beer can, like some awkward microphone. He sings and hums and tries to work out the kinks in the chorus. Something’s missing, but he’s not sure what yet.

He’s still humming when he goes to wipe off his mirror so he can see well enough to floss and go through his nightly moisturizing routine - his father frightened him about the horrors of tooth decay just as much as his grandmother warned him about early aging. He sets his almost empty beer beside the sink, goes to wind the floss around his fingers, but freezes when he sees the man looking back at him.

What has ten years done to him? What did Tsukishima see when he recognized him today?

He traces a single finger from the bridge of his nose, under his eye, along his cheekbones, and down to his chin. Kuroo’s still young and he looks it. Though his wild hair is wet and stuck to his forehead, his style is more or less the same - controlled chaos, like he likes it. 

But maybe other things have changed? Maybe his eyes look different, like they’ve seen more now? Maybe the way he carries himself is different? He backs up, stands up straight, and puffs out his chest a little. Maybe he’s not as ripped as he was in high school, but he looks good. 

He runs gentle fingers along the ink on his arms. That’s the obvious difference. Kuroo grins and snorts out a soft laugh. Sometimes it’s easy to look over the ink that stretches across his arms, his shoulders, that one piece down his ribs, because they’re just a part of him now. With each one, he felt like he became a little bit more himself.

Kuroo smirks at the man in the mirror, the same way he does before a first date, like he’s reminding himself that he likes what he’s got going on. To a certain clientele, he’s hot, right? He’s a bit of a delicious dish, if he does say so himself.

Tsukishima grew up hot. 

The thought surprises him. Kuroo shakes his head, winds floss around his fingers, and shoves those words away.

 

***

 

That night in bed, the light from his phone illuminates his features in his otherwise dark room. His new black out curtains make sure none of the awful street light comes pouring in anymore. Though, staring at his phone in the pitch black probably isn’t good for him either. Kuroo just rolls over and keeps scrolling.

He chuckles at the string of trash talking between Kenma and him while they played against one another that night. Sure, they were already talking on their headsets, but some trash can only be spoken through the beautiful, wondrous language of memes.

Kuroo unlocks his phone and sends a quick text--  
**[00:14]:** good night Kitty Cat. See ya in the morning.

He goes back to his messages and opens up the group chat between Bokuto, Akaashi, and himself.

That’s one thing that’s changed for the worse. Of course, Kuroo’s happy for them, but Kyoto’s too far. It breaks his heart that their apartment no longer is a short walk away, but he knows their opportunities were too good to pass up. Bokuto got a coaching job at a university and Akaashi decided to start law school.

Again. Happy for them. But also way too bummed to think about it for too long.

He drafts a short message about a dozen different ways before he finally sends--  
**[00:18]:** do you guys remember Tsukishima? Also good night. Also miss you.

Kuroo would bet money on the fact that Bokuto is probably already asleep, but Akaashi’s a night owl. As he waits for a response, Kuroo starts to wonder --

He scrolls through his contacts and stops at one that’s long been forgotten. He presses his thumb against the name _Tsukki_ and his phone asks him if he’d like to download the old messages. Kuroo stares at the question, hovers his thumb over it for longer than he can say why, then clicks yes.

It takes a minute, but then there it is -- the last time the two of them texted. The final message is from Kuroo, the end of some aimless conversation about classwork. He scrolls up and keeps reading. All of it reads like two people catching up from time to time. It’s small talk, but they didn’t seem to let too much time pass in between. Maybe a week or two - tops. And it’s kind of funny. He reads the messages in Tsukishima’s voice until he gets too far into the past for his liking.

Kuroo shuts off his screen and lets his phone fall on the bed beside him. His room is totally dark now. He replays his interaction with Tsukishima over in his head and cringes at the dumb faces he felt himself making. But he smiles. It was good to see Tsukishima, to know he’s doing well. 

Maybe they were friends.

And Tsukishima has to come in sometime to get his tattoo finished.


	2. See you around?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima's POV - He worries, there's a cat, also a Yachi, and pretty books

_Tsukishima_

_See you around. See you around?!_ Tsukishima mentally kicks himself. It’s not going to be ‘see you around.’ It’s actually ‘see you in two weeks when I have to come back there for several hours and get my arm finished.’ Plus there’s the whole ‘wanna grab a beer sometime?’ that Tsukishima isn’t sure what to do with.

Why on Earth would he _grab a beer_ with Kuroo Tetsurou?

Tsukishima sighs. There is something comforting in knowing that the guy is still as obnoxiously forward as he used to be. It’s like being assured that the sun will keep shining, the planets will keep revolving, and uselessly excitable people will still exist. Life goes on.

Being careful not to let anyone on the sidewalk bump into his arm, he checks the messages he got while he was being poked by a tiny needle thousands of times. 

Work. Yamaguchi. Yachi. That seems about right. 

He fires off a few quick messages to his team lead. Tsukishima assures him that yes, he remembered the translations were due by Wednesday, that yes, he had already started on them, and yes, he was going to make it to the not-mandatory-but-mandatory get together next Monday. Tsukishima says a silent prayer of gratitude to the universe that he works from home and only has to see his ‘co-workers’ a few times a month. 

He might be halfway to being a hermit, but he’s a happy half-hermit.

Yachi’s next. He checks the time and figures he has time to run home, make his own coffee and shove some leftovers in his mouth to save money, then meet her at their makeshift office. He tells her as much and promises to make it there with his revisions no later than five.

On the train, he manages to grab a seat, thankful that it’s not yet rush hour. He cradles his sensitive upper arm near the window without touching it. He wants the safety of the plexiglass as a shield but, god forbid, if he gets jostled into it. He’d fight the tears, but the tears would come.

With his free hand, Tsukishima lazily scrolls through news headlines before he re-opens his messages. There’s a string of texts from Yamaguchi, some from yesterday, some from this afternoon. Tsukishima realizes with a pang of guilt that it’s been over twenty-four hours since he replied. At this point, he knows Yamaguchi expects it, but also he’d like to be a better friend than that. Especially to that freckled firework of a person. The problem is he reads a message from his best friend, smiles, then gets wrapped back up in whatever he was doing.

Busy. Life’s just busy right now and has been exceptionally so for the past year.

Like he usually does, Tsukishima makes up for a tardy reply to all of Yamaguchi’s short little text-thoughts by answering with one long text that covers every point he’s missed so far and then adds something new to the conversation. It’s hard typing with one hand as the train jostles and he tries to cradle his arm, but he manages--

 **[16:02]:** I’m glad the recipe worked out. It’s one I make a lot because it’s cheap, easy, and keeps well. Yours looks better, though.  
**[16:02]:** I did not catch the latest episode. I was out at the studio until late (again) last night and then I walked Yachi home.  
**[16:03]:** That sucks that guy is still being so passive-aggressive at work. Do you need me to be regular aggressive and just show up and punch him for you? Say the word.

He pauses before he writes the last bit and chews on his lip. Is it important enough to include? Tsukishima figures Yamaguchi is the type who would like to hear about it--  
**[16:06]:** Do you remember Nekoma’s captain from our first year? 

Only after he hits send does he realize that the final question is absolutely jarring with no context. He shrugs and sets his phone down in his lap. Yamaguchi’s probably hustling to get out on time today and won’t be replying anytime soon.

He watches stations fly past on his express train but a thought keeps wiggling around in the back of his brain and not even the mildly painful but wholly satisfying sting of a fresh tattoo can take his mind off of it. Tsukishima picks up his phone and opens his contact list. He scrolls until, yep, there he is. Kuroo Tetsurou’s name is still there.

Tsukishima feels his stomach pinch, knows he’s playing with fire from a memory he can’t quite recall all of yet, but he clicks on his name anyway. And there, like no time had passed at all, is Kuroo’s last message--  
**Kuroo-san [22:07]:** Ugh, be careful when you get to college - it’s all fun and games until you get super behind in your reading.

Above that message are four others, all from Kuroo and all about college life. They’re frozen in the past, forever unanswered. That familiar pang of guilt from being hard to talk to settles into his stomach.

He only has to thumb his way up a few messages before he remembers why he never answered. Tsukishima sees his last contribution to the conversation stream--  
**[12:29]:** it’s nothing -- some overly friendly guy in my homeroom won’t leave me alone lately.

Tsukishima’s still in the train seat, but his mind takes him back to 2-A. He’s sitting at the back by the window, texting Kuroo and waiting for Yamaguchi to pop his head in for lunch. He can feel the hot breeze sweeping in through the open window and he keeps grinning at the dumb shit Kuroo keeps sending him.

Another boy props himself on the desk beside him and lifts his leg onto the top like he’s settling in. Tsukishima holds in a sigh. He can feel the other boy’s eyes staring at him even though he’s trying to ignore the attention.

“That’s a big smile, Tsukishima-kun. Who’re you flirting with?”

And even though it was years ago, even though he’s a different person now, someone who maybe even kind of likes himself now, he feels his stomach drop and his skin grows cold, just like it did then.

Those same intrusive questions swarm his mind like it was yesterday. Was that what he was doing? Was he flirting? With Kuroo? 

Honestly, Tsukishima still doesn’t know if he was but the shame and confusion from that moment still hits him hard, square in the center of his chest. The awful memory grips into him and won’t let go.

Whether or not he was flirting wasn’t the point. The point was there was a part of him that maybe did want to flirt with Kuroo and that was terrifying -- the most frightening thing he could imagine back then. And it would be years - years - before Tsukishima could admit to himself everything he wished he’d been able to back then. It would have saved him so many years of trying to shove himself into what he thought he should be, not what he was, what he could be.

Ten years isn’t enough time, apparently, to dull that sting.

Tsukishima stares at the unanswered texts.

He’d always meant to message him back. Eventually.

Tsukishima comes out of the cold-sweat covered memory when he hears the conductor announce his stop. He rises on shaky feet and blames it on all the tiny needles he just endured for the last couple of hours.

 

***

 

By the time Tsukishima’s back in his neighborhood, the familiar sights and smells have grounded him again. Though he’s always listening to something in his headphones, he likes watching the people pass by on the sidewalk, or those sitting in the cafe at the end of his block. He enjoys the sweet tempting smells from that same cafe, all types sweet breads and rich, freshly ground coffee wafting through the air. It’s far lovelier than the slight hint of garbage he gets from the restaurant beside his building when he walks through the front doors into the old-fashioned looking lobby.

He climbs the stairs to the fourth floor - the elevator makes terrifying sounds and he refuses to trust it - and unlocks his door, entering with a content sigh. It’s small, but he loves this apartment. He’s been here for the last three years and has no intentions of moving anytime soon. Though it’s old, it’s quiet, gets plenty of sunshine in the mornings for all of his plants, and it’s small enough that he can keep it tidy without much hassle. He hangs up his keys on the hook by the door, his hoodie from the morning goes on a tiny coat rack, then he carefully toes off his shoes, and sets his shoulder bag down beside them.

A small chirping sound alerts him to the presence of a now-awake fluffy ball of grey and white slowly stretch-walking towards the door. “Hi, Mister. You miss me? I’m going to feed you a little early today, okay?” Tsukishima reaches down to pet his cat, taking extra time to scratch the little white spot that begins on his forehead and runs back along his head until just past his ears. Mister is all grey, except for little lines of white around his head and on his two back paws. 

His name is also technically not Mister, but once his mother found the little stray outside and began to nurse him back to health, no other name would stick - and not from a lack of trying. Apparently he didn't want to be called by the same name as influential authors.

Looking into the living room, Tsukishima cringes at the messy pile of scripts on his coffee table, he diverts his path to his little kitchen and sends a silent prayer into the universe that there will something unexpired to eat in there. He’s rewarded with some leftover roasted vegetables that still smell fine and the rest of a block of tofu from the other night. Glancing at his watch, he reaches into a cabinet for instant rice, quietly apologizing to his rice cooker for never using it. If he was really responsible he’d just cook rice at night and have it ready for the next day, but that’s not going to happen. At least it stays clean. Tsukishima shrugs and does his best to cook something with Mister winding between his feet.

Back on his couch with all of his ingredients tossed together in a bowl with some haphazardly sloshed sauce on top, Tsukishima ruffles through the papers on his coffee table in between bites. His laptop is open and charging next to him, several tabs of writing open at once.

Right now he’s stuck and it has nothing to do with writer’s block and everything to do with the business of publishing. Their contract with their current publishing group is up for renewal soon, but Yachi’s been dropping major hints about wanting to pursue other options and Kei can’t blame her. They’re doing fine in their current situation, but the pair of anxious chronic worriers has been slowly gaining confidence in their work. It might be time to hold his most cherished ideas close to his chest and save them for what’s next.

But then, what does he submit now? Tsukishima’s not at all sure where the balance is. He just keeps writing, saving some, submitting the rest, and hoping his undergraduate business degree will be useful when it’s time to sell themselves to other companies soon.

 

***

 

The small studio space he and Yachi rent on a monthly basis is a few train stops away, situated right about in the middle of their two apartments. It’s in a larger office space that’s been carved up and converted into individual units. In an effort to support the arts, this particular Ward offered grants to help cover part of the rent cost to qualified applicants. Always looking for ways to save money, Tsukishima jumped on the chance immediately.

It’s perfect to have a place to work that isn’t either of their apartments, but --

Tsukishima grits his teeth until it hurts his jaw. The other tenants aren’t as quiet as they are. With only felt-covered plastic cubicle walls dividing them, their neighbor who swears he’s reinventing the way people think about ukuleles is struggling his way through the same bars of a song over and over.

Yachi pinches her lips together at the other side of the large square table where they sit, her body shaking with unreleased laughter. “You okay there?”

Tsukishima closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in and out.

She leans across the table and whispers. “You could put on your headphones.”

He plants his hands on the table and rocks back in his chair. “Yes, but we actually have to talk our way through what we’re submitting on Friday.”

“We could go to one of our apartments.”

“No.” He replies sharply. “We paid for this space. We’re using this space.”

“So stubbornly practical, Tsukishima-kun.” Laughter bubbles up in her throat as he turns back to her pages taking shape in front of her. Even though they’ve worked together for over a year now, it still looks like magic to Tsukishima, the way her sketches are cleaned up and refined until Yachi’s breathed life into the images that he does his best to paint with words.

For a moment he watches her as she carefully redraws an outline. Her blonde hair is drawn up into a messy ponytail, loose strands tucked behind her ears so she can work. She hasn’t grown a single centimeter since high school, but the once frightfully anxious first year manager has grown into a much different woman. Sure, she’s still prone to bouts of anxious spirals, but when they’re not present she’s got the calm and confident presence of someone who finds pleasure in the things they create.

Yachi holds up the scene she’s working on.

And what Yachi likes to create is gruesome crime scenes, the final scene of their next chapter.

A smile creeps its way onto the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth and Yachi smiles back.

“Alright, time to turn this puppy into something digital and useable.” She bends over to rifle through her bag and get out everything she needs.

“How come you still sketch on paper first?” Tsukishima asks, shutting his laptop screen a little so he can see better.

“I don’t know. I don’t do it for everything, but like, the big things,” she turns to face him, her eyes growing larger when she says the word ‘big,’ “I have to see it before I can see it, you know. I guess it’s like your outlines.”

The ukelele man chooses that exact moment to begin scream singing his way through a butchered chorus. Tsukishima’s whole face scrunches up.

“Alright. I’m going to disappear into my headphones.” He announces, retreating into music. Across from one another at their little folding table, they work in a companionable silence - bad ukulele man aside - like they’ve done for so many months now.

Tsukishima writes his way through several ideas and catches up on the business side of creating - emails, managing social media, more emails. When he finally looks back over at Yachi, the tip of her tongue is peeking out from her lips.

“You seem focused.” He says, slipping off his headphones.

Yachi blinks a few times, almost like she’s coming back into the present. “I always am.”

 _That’s true, Tsukishima thinks, but still_ \- “More than usual.”

Yachi sets down her tablet and yanks at the band holding her ponytail back until it’s free from her blonde locks. “Well - some of the other illustrators are going out tonight and I thought if we made enough progress, felt good enough about our deadline, that, instead of working, we could --”

Ukulele man chooses that exact moment to belt out a flat note at the top of his lungs.

“Yes, oh my god, let’s go.” Tsukishima starts closing his laptop. “But only for a little bit.”

He’ll take a group of illustrators and writers over a group of junior translators trying to suck up to their boss over drinks any day.

Even if his preferred night out is actually a night in, alone, working on scripts or taking a moment to crack the spine of a brand new book and lose himself for a little while.

But he’ll go. He’ll get one drink, something with gin, and he’ll actually get into the conversation for a little while because it’s nice to bounce ideas off of other creative people If Tsukishima’s honest with himself, he considers everyone in that little group a friend, but by the time the drink’s gone, he’ll be ready to use his _aloof, mysterious writer_ card to get himself a one-way ticket home - even though they all know him better by now.

Plus, he can always say he has to feed his cat. Mister is an excellent excuse.

 

***

 

“Hey! Our angel and our resident bad boy have arrived!”

“Still holding on to that shit, Taka?” Tsukishima greets the other man, someone who's a bit younger and so much louder than himself. He gives a small wave to the rest of the table and then to the bar owner who’s caught his eye and is giving Tsukishima the same warm, friendly welcome she always does.

“You’re not disproving the point, walking up in here with fresh ink.” Takahashi’s comment catches the ear of the rest of the table and several heads turn away from their conversations to look.

Even though he likes his tattoos and knows it garners him attention, Tsukishima still feels his muscles pulling tightly into themselves as he carefully holds out his arm. Even Yachi gets a closer glance, still standing beside him before they sit down together. He wonders if she'd waited this whole time to get a closer look, waiting for Tsukishima to invite the attention before she barged in.

“And some bad boy I’ll be, with my quiet home, quiet cat, and my need to go to bed at a reasonable hour.” Tsukishima deflects.

Takahashi leans back in his chair. “You’re a walking contradiction, Tsukishima.”

“So are you - somehow both a brilliant artist and an absolute moron.”

The other man laughs and the rest of the table chuckles at the all too familiar routine. Yachi takes a seat at the long table at the back of their usual bar. It’s a place that has good food and is run by a family who makes sure you leave both fed and a little drunk, if you want to be. The group finds themselves here at least twice a month.

“So what was the inspiration behind this one?” Takahashi asks, gesturing his chopsticks in Tsukishima’s direction.

Tsukishima tries not to notice that other people are listening to their conversation, too. He tries to find that balance between being excited and actually wanting to talk about his tattoo, and wanting to keep it all to himself because it’s something that’s meaningful to him. It sounds so much cheaper when he says it out loud. The idea is so much richer in his head, so much more a part of who he is. “It’s just more books, you know me. Different things from true crime authors and some cosmic horror books that have meant a lot to me.” He settles on vague with just enough detail to satisfy the group.

What Tsukishima doesn’t say is how, along with music, books have always been a safe haven. When he didn’t much like himself, he at least liked escaping to other places where fantastic, even if they were gruesome, things could happen. The hells of the inner-workings of his mind throughout high school and college were easier when put in the perspective of _hey, at least I didn’t get murdered today._

And he could never shake how inspired he was by the detectives in these novels, real or entirely fictional. They could solve the impossible and, maybe if he consumed all these books, maybe if he put reminders of them on his skin, then maybe he could solve the wide variety impossible in his life, too. _Too cheesy to ever say out loud_ , he thinks.

Yachi leans over towards him, a gentle smile on her face as she brings a glass of beer to her lips. “I helped with this part.” She points to the base, a veritable mountain of - soon to be - colorful books, some with pages open, others shut tight, with roots sprouting below them and a tree blooming above. A foundation. A part of everything he’d once needed when he felt like he’d lost his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you -- o(〃＾▽＾〃)o -- for all of the warm, wonderful comments and kudos on Chapter 1. My heart is full! I'm glad you're along for his self-indulgent journey of mine, too. I've had this idea in my head and in my notes for so long that I forget other people can't just "see" what's been living in my imagination for so long. I'm like, but of course Tsukishima has a tattoo with books and a soft grey cat. Haha, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this peek into Tsukishima's life now!
> 
> (Next update might be a little over a week, like this one was. Between vacations (yay), work (boo), and friends visiting (yay), carving out sacred writing time has been a bit tricky.)
> 
> Chat with me on Twitter - [@HeyMellieJellie](https://twitter.com/HeyMellieJellie).


	3. Too busy to date.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo's POV: he wakes up early, he hustles hard, there's lot of friend time and familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo's bi in this fic. If that bothers you, then you can politely take the old town road outta here.
> 
> **my first publish of this chapter had some flip-flopped paragraphs in the first section; it's fixed now**

_Kuroo_

Kuroo’s alarm blares for the third time, just as loud an angry as the first two. With a heavy hand, he grabs for his phone and finally shuts it off. He groans awake, staring up at his ceiling in the dark. He’s pretty sure he’s still holding on to pieces of a now-forgotten dream, but he starts to roll himself to the side of his bed with his sheets still clinging around his waist. He plants both feet heavily on the floor and slumps towards his bathroom, the sheets dropping behind him on the floor as he goes. On the way he stops at his living room curtains and opens them out of habit, even though it’s still pitch black outside.

Like a zombie, he crawls into the shower where he lets the cold water hit him before it begins to grow warm. Kuroo’s not sure how other people wake up without a slap of icy cold tap water. He’s in and out quickly - just long enough to wake up - still on auto-pilot until he’s done brushing his teeth. He towels his hair with rough and wild strokes until it looks like an untamed tangled mess.

Most people think he achieves his signature bedhead look by just rolling out of bed. _Fools. It takes work for my hair to look this effortless._

His routine has evolved and grown over the years. This is the point in the morning when he actually starts to feel awake. He works in a few different products with practiced hands, never tired of the way they smell great together. Next is the blow dryer on low. Followed by a different product. Finally, dryer on cool until it’s set for the day. It never looks the same two days in a row and Kuroo thinks that’s excellent.

Kuroo’s planned out his day and he knows that he’s going to have time to come back between early morning recording time and his first client at the shop, so back in his bedroom, he throws on a t-shirt and some soft, worn black jeans.

Once he’s in his kitchen, he begins his ritual. Digging into the bag of fresh coffee beans, Kuroo carefully weighs out the exact amount needed on a small kitchen scale. Then he grinds them in the grinder he spent far too much money on, and starts to heat the memorized amount of water. While he waits he shoves a protein bar into his face, finishing it in just a few bites. Breakfast isn’t he main course here and it’s too early to eat anyway. The button on his kettle pops and Kuroo carefully pours it over the freshly ground beans, watching as the very scientific-looking glass pot fills with the perfect cup of coffee.

Kuroo pours it into one of his four mugs - today it’s half of a set he and Bokuto painted together on a random pottery painting outing - and settles into the best, lumpiest spot on his couch. Typically he’ll look out towards the street from his first story apartment and watch the rest of the world wake up with him, but this morning it’s still just darkness that greets him. 

He watches it anyway, noting the hint of light peeking over the horizon and wishing he could see stars. There’s so few of them in the city and it’s been so long since he’s carved out time to go camping. _God, how long has it been? Two… three years? Since that time Bo and me nearly died in the woods. Man, there’s no way it’s been that long_ , he thinks, alarmed at how fast time is passing.

Kuroo sips his coffee while his phone stays happily forgotten in the kitchen. It’s the first of many doses of caffeine, but it’s the ritual that’s most important. On days when he misses this because he oversleeps or he convinces himself it’s not that important, he feels off the whole day. He needs this time to get up just a little earlier so he can ignore his phone, ignore his plans, and sit here with a cup of coffee for a few minutes - until it’s time to catch the train.

The rest of this day can be a whirlwind of unpredictability, but dammit, he’s going to have his one perfectly-made cup of coffee.

 

***

 

Kuroo has a key to Kenma’s place but he knocks out of courtsey first. He only uses his key if Kenma’s gaming or refusing to get out of bed.

A pair of half-asleep eyes peek out from a crack in his front door. He blink a few times, processing everything in front of him. Kuroo holds out a cup of cafe-bought coffee from the one place that’s open this early.

Kenma groans, but opens the door wider to hold out his hands. “The coffee’s a nice touch, but I’m still angry I’m awake this early.” Kenma turns and shuffles back into his apartment with the liquid offering held carefully between both hands.

Kuroo steps in after him, closing the front door and holding his own coffee. It’s not as good as his. Kuroo checks the kitchen to make sure there’s signs of some kind of breakfast and he’s glad when he sees a bowl by the sink with leftover milk in the bottom.

“We don’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid.” Kuroo says as Kenma steps into his bedroom to, hopefully, finish getting ready.

He hears a groan in response. “I know.”

“Don’t worry. Everyone else is complaining, too.” Kuroo’s already sent texts to his other bandmates to make sure they’re on their way to the studio. “It’s been too hard working around everyone’s work schedules and we need to get the rest of these songs recorded.”

“If you’re just recording do I really need to be there?” Kenma whines, his voice muffled through fabric but still carrying through to the living room where Kuroo waits, sipping his own coffee and rocking back and forth on his feet.

“I guess you don’t _have_ to be, but you’re our manager.”

Kenma emerges from his room, gently rolling his eyes. “But you do all the work.”

“With your help!” Kuroo replies with a bright smile. “Plus you can upload pics from today to our twitter, maybe go live for a bit? Throw something up on youtube?”

Kenma replies with a soft grunt.

“Also I found a few more programs and grants for new artists,” Kuroo starts, heading towards the door with Kenma in tow, “and I want you to look over what I wrote so far. Oh and I’ve been in contact with those streaming sites you found and I want you to check over what I’ve proposed, too.”

Kenma sniffs out a laugh. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that about wraps it up.”

“It’s still too early for this.” Kenma blinks wearily at the sun just peeking up over the horizon. “Too early for you. You’re a lot first thing in the morning.”

Kuroo laughs hard and Kenma closes his eyes for a second as he locks his door behind them.

“Remember when I used to drag you to morning practice? Sometimes literally.”

“Often literally.” Kenma looks up at him, a small smile across his face. “Remember that time you slung me over your shoulder?”

Kuroo laughs again, deeper this time, startling some still-sleeping birds in trees outside of Kenma’s building.

Kenma bumps into him with his shoulder. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

 

***

 

The room’s grown still. No one’s even playing their instruments or even talking anymore. They’re just waiting. There’s a tension that could be cut with a knife and Kuroo knows he’s the source, slowly trying to breathe and not snap at someone who _isn’t_ Tora who’s now, he looks at his watch, twenty-two minutes late.

They’ve individually recorded what tracks they could. Alisa was able to re-record some vocals and Oyori and Soga played around with some new bass lines and found something that worked better for one of their new tracks. So the morning hasn’t been a complete waste so far. But still, Tora’s now twenty-three minutes late. _It’s a respect thing_ , Kuroo growls inside his mind.

When Yamamoto Taketora bursts through the front doors, Kuroo eyes him from behind the glass of the sound booth. He’s sweaty and slouching. _Good_ , Kuroo thinks, _a little humble grovelling wouldn't be the worst right now._

Once he’s sure he won’t be interrupting anything, Tora walks through the door, grimacing. No one says anything, though out of the corner of his eye, Kuroo sees Alisa give him a sympathetic look.

“Well? What’s it this time?” Kuroo’s voice comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t walk it back. _The rest of us showed up on time. He can, too._

“I missed the bus.” Tora runs his fingers up the back of the blonde streak through his hair.

“Everyone else made it.” Kuroo stares him down and the loud and excitable man shrinks under it, just like when Kuroo had to fuss at him in high school about one thing or another.

“C’mon, Kuroo - it’s just today. I’ve made it all the other --”

“We don’t get endless studio time. You know that.”

“Of course. It was just a mistake.” He stands up a little taller, squaring his shoulders. _Still stubborn until the end._ “You know I’m serious about this.”

Kuroo sighs, trying hard to push out all the tension in his shoulders. He feels the room relax around him. “I know. Just get on your drums, man.” Kuroo points at him as Tora jumps to follow. “And you owe us a round of beers.”

“Done.”

“Ooooh, you made dad mad.” Oyori, their bassist, snickers from behind their long, straight black hair half-hanging over their face as Tora takes his place with the rest of them.

Soga, their rhythm guitarist, scrunches up his face. “Kuroo can’t be the dad. I’m older than him.”

“By two months. And don’t sass me,” Kuroo serves him some side-eye, “ _son_.”

A round of laughter makes its way around the room and any remaining awkwardness dissolves. They’re back to the five of them plus their one sullen-looking sort-of-manager - five friends making music and feeding their larger than life dreams on a daily basis.

“Be careful with that analogy.” Alisa grins dangerously. “One, I’m older than you and, two, it makes our past romantic entanglement way more gross than it already was.”

Even Kenma, perched behind his laptop answering emails, chuckles at that one.

“We weren’t gross. We were cute.” Kuroo defends, a hand splayed dramatically across his chest.

“Well it’s gross now.” Alisa snickers, her silvery-blonde hair falling into her face. She blows a few stray strands away.

“And why’s that?”

Alisa makes a gagging face. “Because I’ve seen my very dear friend naked.”

“Hey, if that makes things gross, then yo!” Tora points to himself with his drumsticks “All y’all have seen me naked.”

“Don’t remind us.” Oyori chucks a guitar pick at him.

“Alright, alright, we’ve wasted enough time. Back to it. Kenma you ready to film?” Kuroo turns to make sure he can see each of his bandmates. He’s all business now, but his eyes are alight. “Another run-through of that yet-unnamed-but-super-bassy-and-excellent song?”

There’s a round of nods and “you got it” and they fall together seamlessly once Kuroo counts them down. Alisa’s voice rings out loud and clear over the loud and sometimes purposefully jarring guitars and Tora slamming on the drums. It’s Kuroo’s favorite kind of beautiful chaos. When he’s playing, it’s one of the only times Kuroo’s able to just do only one thing at a time. His busy mind is always trying to pull him in 800 different directions, but when he plays guitar, when he’s tattooing, those are the only times when it’s just him and his craft.

He hears his friends playing or singing around him and he feels awake and tingling with this unnameable feeling, one that’s only surpassed by when they play live. Sometimes he still can’t believe that all their scribbled lyrics and chords in messy notebooks come together to be -- _this_.

And out of all of their recent songs, this one is probably the closest to perfect that they have on this album so far. It’s why he can’t seem to name it, not that they all haven’t tried. Nothing fits it just right and it’s too good to just pick something that’s _good enough._

When their recording time is up they emerge into the morning air energized and mostly - Kenma excluded - forgetting about their early alarm this morning. They start to separate to go on with the less glamorous parts of their lives - part-time jobs at cafes, full-time jobs at boring offices, or a day of appointments at the tattoo shop - but Alisa holds him back.

There’s a crooked little smile on her face when she looks up at him, anxiously twisting her fingers together. “Hey, sorry about the dating joke earlier.” 

Kuroo waves it off. “It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me at all.”

Her smile perks up and she pushes her bangs out of her face. “I know, but it’s not gross we dated, and I didn’t want you to think --” she sighs dramatically, gently kicking Kuroo’s shoe with her own. “I mean, I got a friend out of it.”

Kuroo pokes her shoulder, trying to break the spell of Alisa’s consuming levels of empathy. “And a band.” He notes.

A soft laugh escapes her lips. “Yea, and a band.” She pokes him back, right between the ribs. “Better as friends.”

Kuroo yelps and swats her finger away. “Always.”

“Ooh and, I’ve got a friend who’s interested in you. She’s blonde. I know that’s one of your things.” Alisa wiggles her eyebrows. “She’s also got a brother. I don’t know how he swings but I bet he’d look at you and be like _damn_.”

“Your flattery and excellent wing-manning is always very welcome.” Kuroo throws an arm over her shoulders in a half-hug.

“I figure it’s time. You’re never single for long.”

“That’s not true, just last year I --”

Kenma appears at Kuroo’s side and interrupts. “He’s a serial monogamist. It’s an illness.” 

“Am not.” Kuroo retorts, sounding the same as he used to when Kenma teased him when they were kids.

Apparently, Alisa agrees. “It’s been - what - three, four weeks since you broke up with that guy from the bar? The next one’s got to be right around the corner.” She starts to walk towards the station.

Kuroo takes a single big step to follow behind them. “Wrong!” He says sharply, but that’s not entirely true. “That’s just chemistry. I have it with everyone. And besides,” he stretches his arms out and over his head before letting them fall again at his sides, “no one wants to date the guy with a million projects.”

Kenma falls back to be in step right beside him. He’s still looking forward when his soft voice reaches Kuroo’s ears. “You just need to find someone that’s as nuts as you are.”

 

***

 

By the time Kuroo makes it home that evening he’s exhausted. After recording, he made it back home and rather self-indulgently decided to crash on his couch and squeeze in a nap before heading to the shop. Kuroo doesn’t take the responsibility of inking something on someone’s skin _forever_ lightly, after all. His clients are trusting him and he’s going to deliver - after a nap and a better breakfast/lunch before he goes in.

But the nap meant he couldn’t work out until his last client left and he helped clean up the shop. He almost skipped it but his singular motivation dragged his ass to the gym - _you can’t rip off your shirt during a show if you ain’t got the goods underneath_. It is the only thing that keeps him going on a regular basis.

He flops onto his floor, a take out container in front of him on his coffee table. There's no room for another table in his tiny place, but that's fine. He has what he needs. He fires of a few quick texts to his dad about coming over this weekend - _yea, I can pick up groceries on my way over. See you Sunday!_ Kuroo’s usually dead-on-his-feet after shows on Saturday, but he picks himself up (almost) every Sunday to go to his childhood home and make some food together. 

That house seems so big with only his dad in it now. Kuroo wishes he’d just move already. After his grandmother passed that house stopped feeling warm and welcoming and just felt full of dark, empty corners. He kind of hates it there now, but he’s waiting to grow past it, to see warmth in all those memories, like his dad does. Not the heavy weight that stays with him until he forcefully pushes it out of his mind.

At least they always make something good and Kuroo starts the week off with a hearty helping of leftovers in his fridge.

Those leftovers are long gone now, though, and Kuroo’s just about ready to fall asleep head-first into his fried rice when he gets a call notification. Video call. Akaashi.

He swipes up to accept, picking his head up and propping his phone up against his glass of water.

Akaashi and Bokuto’s faces pop onto the screen. “Calling a little earlier tonight. Does the old, married couple need to go to bed early?”

“You’re one to talk. From the looks of it you’re already half-asleep.” Akaashi teases back.

“You look like shit.” And there’s Bo.

Kuroo grins from the warm embrace of familiarity, even if it is over a sometimes-fuzzy video connection. “And you look old as shit. Tired of your new batch of undergrads yet?”

Bokuto waves a hand. “Nah. The head coach deals with all the headaches. I’m just, like, also there to nod my head and give advice when he’s somewhere else. I’m like - uh - the team’s big brother, or -” he pinches his lips together in thought, “like the fun uncle. Yea, the team’s fun uncle.”

“Who still gets on their case.” Akaashi adds.

“Well yea! Even fun uncle wants you to get better, obviously.” Bokuto shrugs. “I like it. It’s still good.”

“How’s summer term going?” Kuroo asks, turning his attention to Akaashi.

Akaashi sits up from his slouchy position on the couch. It’s still weird for Kuroo to see that couch in their new place. His friends are always the same, that couch is still old and well-loved, but there’s new art hung around it, new curtains. “Classes are fine. Mind-numbing. My head feels like goo from trying to shove information into it most of the time.” He sighs wistfully. “Remember summer vacation? A _guaranteed_ summer vacation?”

Kuroo sighs, slouching heavily against his arm. “One where you don’t have to stuff in extra courses to finish faster and make all that lawyer money on time?”

Akaashi snickers. “Yea, exactly. Or not going to work for two months because that’s just a thing you get to do?”

“That’d be perfect right about now.” Kuroo sits up to shovel some rice into his mouth.

“I kind of get one.” Bokuto chimes in.

“Quit bragging.” Kuroo sneers.

“It’s only for a couple of weeks! In between incoming freshman training camps. Plus, you’d go nuts with that much free time.” Bokuto points accusatorily at the phone. “You, too.” He adds, glancing over at Akaashi.

Akaashi grins and playfully shoves Bokuto out of frame. He looks at Kuroo. “He’s probably not wrong, you know.”

Kuroo chuckles and thinks of his current schedule, the one he’s been holding down since he stopped trying to force himself unhappily into the business world and threw himself into music and learning to be a tattoo artist. If he’s not working, then he’s rehearsing and recording. If he’s not rehearsing and recording, then he’s performing. And if he’s not doing any of that, he’s working on his musical side projects, or chasing grants for the band, or studying tattoo techniques to improve his craft. The noisy, vibrating hum of creation.

Bokuto pops back in, throwing an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. “How’s work at the shop?”

It’s Kuroo’s turn to shrug. _What is there to share?_ “Fine. Normal.”

“Has Tsukishima come back in yet?” Bokuto asks, his eyes opening wider.

Kuroo groans. He almost regrets sending them that text the day he say the blond again. _Almost_. Bokuto hasn’t shut up about it all week. “No, and I don’t know when he’s coming back in to get it finished. I’m not going to ask his artist. That’d be so weird.”

“Why?”

“It’s intrusive, Kou.” Akaashi steps in to help.

“But you know each other!” Bokuto says like it’s a clear-cut fact.

It’s anything but. “Barely. And it’s been a decade. We really don’t.” _Plus there’s the fact that I blurted out asking to go get a beer and was immediately shot down._

“I just think it’d be cool, you know.” Bokuto stares intensely into the phone screen. “It could feel like our last year, Kuroo, if we all got together. I could even message Hinata! Oh, my son, I haven’t sent him anything in a while.” Bokuto scrambles for his phone and Akaashi sighs, letting out a soft laugh.

“I don’t think Bokuto feels crippling social rules the same way we do.” Akaashi grins at Bokuto’s back.

Kuroo laughs, too, fondness melting throughout his heart. “Nope, he just barrels right through and is either extremely happy or extremely sad with the result.”

Akaashi glances over to where Bokuto is slamming his thumbs against his phone, no doubt hammering out a typo-filled but exuberant message to Hinata. “And he just wants us all to be happy. Even long-lost Tsukishima.”

“Speaking of which,” Bokuto slides back into full-view. “Are you dating anyone yet?”

“I do not like that your brain connected those two thoughts.” Kuroo says sharply, giving Bokuto a look.

“Nah, nah,” Bokuto shakes his hands, “not like that. Well, not _not_ like that, but like, not like that really, but maybe a little like that--”

“You’re rambling, hon.” Akaashi interjects, running his hand gently up and down Bokuto’s upper arm.

Bokuto takes a quick breath and continues before Kuroo can jump in. “No connection.”

Akaashi leans in to whisper, “He’s lying. He’s been mentioning it all week.”

“‘Kaashi!” Bokuto whines behind him. “Now Kuroo’s going to think I’m weird.”

“Too late, bro. By like, twelve years.” Kuroo laughs, happy for a chance to shift the conversation, but it’s hard to ignore the way Akaashi’s looking at him differently now.

“Yea, you’re right. Good thing we’re all weird.” Bokuto pauses and chews his bottom lip. “I do wish you could find someone as awesome as you, though.”

The shift in tone makes Kuroo feel warm and just a bit sad. _This would be so much better in person._ “Hard to,” Kuroo deflects with practiced ease, “too busy to date. At least that’s what they all say when I inevitably get dumped.”

And it’s true. He knows it is. He can’t even blame them all that much when they walk away and the routine of it all is making it start to hurt less, too. Kuroo doesn’t have time to invest in a relationship now. There’s too many other things he’s chasing.

“Well they’re idiots.” Akaashi adds, smiling. “I mean, you’re an idiot, too, but the good kind.”

“Thanks, guys. Now can we change the subject? I’d rather not get emotional in front of my dinner.” He casts a forlorn gaze down at his rapidly cooling fried rice.

They fall back into easy habits, talking about nothing important. What they’re watching on Netflix. Akaashi’s niece’s birthday party. Shared memories where they each jump in with the different parts they remembered. Kuroo finishes his dinner and starts to droop, his eyelids growing heavy. There’s talk of a visit soon, of Bokuto and Akaashi taking the bullet train up to see family and friends over a long weekend.

Kuroo always intends to head down there, too, but time slips away quickly and plans go unfulfilled.

At least they understand. And it’ll be nice to see them both later in the month.

By the time they hang up, Kuroo’s yawning so hard it hurts his jaw. He pulls himself into the shower. The morning shower is for a few moments of shocking cold. The evening one is to actually wipe off the filth of the day, but it’s hard to want to stand up any longer, and he does his best before collapsing into his bed on top of the covers. _It’s warm tonight. I can sleep like this_ , he reasons. And before he even has time to change his mind and get under his sheets, he’s dead asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Kuroo probably wakes up and listens to Panic! at the Disco's "High Hopes" every single morning.)
> 
> My GOODNESS, this exposition is stretching out. It didn't seem that long in my outline, but I wanted to paint what each of their lives looks like separately before the plot rolls on, and then I have to do it for TWO characters in this fic, not just one.
> 
> Switching POVs is a *challenge* for me. Like, this time, after publishing ch 2, I was stuck in Tsukki-mode and could only seem to work on ch 4 before I just had to force myself to get back into Kuroo's brain and get this one done.
> 
> But the choo-choo train is chugging along!  
> ☆⌒(ゝ。∂) Thanks for reading! You all make this fun!
> 
> Additional tiny side note: all of the OC's names are people I worked with and/or hung out with when I lived in Japan. Little bits of my buds throughout (even though the OCs are just like flavoring in the settings here).


	4. Yea, why not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima's POV
> 
> Tsukishima is secretly adorable, Yamaguchi tells it how it is, and Tsukishima returns to the shop to finish his tattoo.

_Tsukishima_

“I like your new panda.” Tsukishima smiles into his video camera as his two-year old niece continues to ramble on about the small, squishy panda toy whose eyes grow bigger when she squeezes it in between her tiny hands. He nods along, showing he’s listening because, well, he actually is. Not that Emi seems to notice one way or the other unless she’s holding something up for him to see.

“Me, too!” Yamaguchi pops into the screen after setting down a bag of food on his coffee table.

His niece’s eyes grow a bit bigger and she smiles wide, going back into her pile of panda toys to show it off for her “Uncle Tadashi,” too. With how many times Emi’s seen him at family gatherings, it’s no wonder she’ll have no idea he isn’t a blood relative of the Tsukishimas until she’s much older.

Tsukishima laughs as the video camera follows her down a hallway in his brother’s home. Emi’s picking up stuffed pandas along the way, telling her uncles all about each one until she throws them on her bed.

He hears Akiteru’s voice gently remind her not to throw them and she picks one up to give it a kiss as an apology.

Tsukishima knows he must be biased, but clearly Emi is the best kid in the world.

The video flips around and Tsukishima sees his brother looking tired, but happy. “Well, it’s time for bed in this house, even though the sun’s still up.”

“I’m just about to eat dinner, you old fart.” Tsukishima snorts.

“We did that about, uh, two hours ago. Now it’s time to get _this one_ to bed so we can have our blissful thirty, forty minutes of TV before we also fall asleep. On the couch. Like we do everyday.” Akiteru laughs. “It was good to see you, too, Tadashi. Hope we see you next time Kei comes up for a visit.”

“Plan to!” Yamaguchi replies.

The camera flips again and Emi’s haphazardly pulling her blankets up around her. “Good night, Uncle Kei. Good night, Uncle Tadashi.”

“Good night, Emi!” Yamaguchi smiles and then excuses himself to go back to the kitchen.

Tsukishima appreciates the moment to be sappy without anyone else bearing witness. “Good night, Emi. I love you.”

“How much?” She giggles, familiar with their routine, her toes wiggling under the covers.

“So much.” He answers back, the same way he does every call.

Akiteru flips the phone around again. “I love you, too. Sooooo much.” He grins and sticks his tongue out.

“It’s gross when you say it.”

“Still true. G’night, Kei.”

“Night, Aki.”

When Yamaguchi comes back, he’s juggling two bowls, spoons, and two cans of soda. He plops them on the coffee table and then grins at Tsukishima. “Being an uncle has made you so soft.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s a good look on you.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance and they fall back into easy conversation as they dole out servings of sodium-rich, take out curry and turn on a movie neither of them are going to pay much attention to. They’re working their way through a terrible action movie franchise that Tsukishima’s never seen. Yamaguchi swears it's worth suffering through the bad writing, that it’s “the good kind of bad.”

A couple of minutes in, Yamaguchi leans over, careful not to spill his curry, and sniffs Tsukishima’s shoulder. “Did you smoke today?”

 _I thought I covered it up better. Guess not._ Tsukishima grimaces, setting his eyes on the TV. “Just the one.” He replies casually, not actually feeling casual at all. He braces himself for another passive aggressive comment or a lecture but instead --

Yamaguchi sighs. “Kei.” His friend leaves him to stew for a minute and he does, pushing down whatever defensiveness that rises up in him like a reflex. The rules are different with Yamaguchi. They always have been. He waits for his well-deserved comment.

Instead his friend just frees up a hand and flicks him hard in the upper arm. “No one’s going to want to kiss you when you smell like the bottom of a garbage can.”

“I do not.”

Yamaguchi just raises an eyebrow.

“I do not.” He repeats, but at least Yamaguchi’s chuckling now and making him feel a little less like he just got in trouble. “I just -- happy hour with the other translators was -- my nerves were shot.”

Yamaguchi glances back at the movie, shoves a spoonful of curry into his mouth. “Why do you go to those things if they make you so anxious?”

“You know I don’t have a choice. You go to all of your school’s work-party-things.”

“That’s different. I like my coworkers - the second grade team knows how to _bring it_ when we go out.”

 _He’s got me there_ , Kei thinks. “I have to go. It’s not like I can meet everyone in the office, sit through a two-hour meeting and then bounce. I tried once. It wasn’t worth all the questioning.”

There’s not a single one of the translators on the remote work team that he’d spend any time with outside of the work events. He tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, and maybe they’re all just introverts who chose to work from home so they could get away with as few interactions as possible, and maybe that’s why they all stick with the most basic, boring topics anyone can think of, but even with that in mind, Tsukishima’s always counting down the minutes until it’s socially acceptable to leave.

“Well, fine. Go. But quit smoking.”

“I have!”

“All the way. Like I said, no one’s gonna want to kiss your trash mouth.”

“Not looking for anyone to kiss my trash mouth right now.” Tsukishima waits for Yamaguchi to chime in with his usual agreement, their familiar salute to singlehood.

Instead Yamaguchi smirks and then buries his smile behind more curry.

Tsukishima pauses the movie and gives his friend a look. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing big, just -” the grin creeps back in place. _Is he blushing?_ “A date. A few dates.”

“Who? Someone I’ve met?”

“Not, uh, some _one_ , more like, a couple of some _ones_.”

“Elaborate. Now.”

Yamaguchi sets down his food and waves his hands in an embarrassed frenzy. “Nothing scandalous! Just, I’m not looking for anything serious yet, but I wanted to try dating again. It’s been, I don’t know, fun? Yea, fun. A little fun.”

Tsukishima feels his stomach drop with - what - disappointment? Surprise? But the rest of him, the better sides of him, are happy to see his friend looking glad to be back out there again. Yamaguchi was never one to stay down for long. “I’m glad.” He says and pauses before continuing, his mouth drawn in a tight, thin line. “Just make sure they’re nice to you.”

Yamaguchi smiles. “I will.”

They eat for a few moments with the soundtrack of labored dialogue and car explosions on the TV in front of them. Tsukishima’s scraping his spoon along the edge of his bowl to get the last bits of delicious, cheap curry into his mouth when Yamaguchi speaks again.

“It just felt like it was time and, I don’t know, a coworker suggested this dumb app and instead of immediately saying ‘no’ I just tried it. It couldn’t hurt, right?”

They share a knowing look and both laugh. It’s one that bubbles up out of their chests and erupts, half-bitter, half-elated, and all friendship, that ability to know everything the other person is saying without them having to say it.

Because of course it could hurt. They’ve both been on the healing end of rough breakups for the better part of a year, even longer for Tsukishima. For so many months now it’s been just the two of them again, like it used to be. No boyfriends demanding their time. _It’s been nice, but I guess it had to end some time._

“As long as you’re having fun.” It grows quiet, well, as quiet as it can be with a shoot out between car theives and police screeches out from the TV.

They’ve been a bit too sincere for a bit too long. Tsukishima searches for a way back to enjoying dinner and a dumb movie. “I’d pay money to see your profile pic on that app.” 

Tsukishima smirks and lunges for his best friend’s phone. Yamaguchi cries out, “No!” His voice breaking with howling laughter. “You can’t see that side of me.” He grips his phone tightly in both hands and holds it close to his side. “You’d never be able to unsee it, Kei.”

“Come on, it can’t be anything I haven’t seen already. I’ve known you forever.”

Yamaguchi stares at him, eyes wide and dancing with mischief. “It is.” He says seriously, but there’s laughter threatening to burst through just behind it. “I’ll make a deal. You can see mine once you make a profile.”

Tsukishima sits back against the couch. “No thanks.”

“Come on. I bet you’d pull some serious interest. You could be like _hey boys, I write crime stories and have hipster glasses. Check out my tattoos. I’m so-o-o-o interesting._ ” As he speaks, Yamaguchi does his impression of Tsukishima but he adds poses for profile pictures that Tsukishima would never, ever do in real life.

“Rude.” Tsukishima smirks.

Yamaguchi just laughs. “But really, even if you don’t want to go the app route, maybe it’s time to meet more people in general. Not like, romantically, even. Just, someone besides those translators you work with.”

“I hang out with the illustrators I met through Yachi.”

“Oh yea! See, you got this. Any of them interest you?”

“I thought you just said it didn’t have to be romantic.”

“I lied.” Yamaguchi grins. “No but really, I think it’s time we both tried some new things to get out of our comfortable ruts.”

Tsukishima dumps the rest of the curry from the container into his bowl. “I like the comfortable rut.” 

“Me, too, but different can be good.” Yamaguchi turns his attention back to the movie, but Tsukishima can’t miss the grin that slides into place across his face. “You could take Kuroo up on that offer to go get a beer next time you go in for your tattoo.”

Tsukishima’s still not sure why he told his friend about that encounter. It’s come up more times over the past couple of weeks than he’s comfortable with. But for the record, he’s comfortable talking about Kuroo zero times. Exactly zero times. 

“You didn’t even remember him!” Tsukishima throws back, recalling the text chain right after he left the shop lasts time.

“Only at first.” Yamaguchi defends. “I _sort of_ remembered him. I don’t know, it could be fun, catching up with someone you used to talk to.”

“Could be fun. More than likely wouldn't be.” _The potential for awkward small talk is way too high. There’s no way. I can’t imagine what we’d even talk about._

“It’d be, like, what? An hour? You could do an hour.”

Tsukishima flicks his attention towards the TV. “These movies are just over an hour long and I can barely stomach them.” As if on cue, there’s a massive explosion on screen and Yamaguchi chuckles beside him. “How many of these are left in the series?” Tsukishima asks, starting to collect dishes to bring them to Yamaguchi’s kitchen.

Yamaguchi gracefully lets go of the earlier conversation. “Six.”

Tsukishima freezes in place. “Wha - how?”

“And they get better every time. By the latest one, they don’t even pretend to have a plot. It’s fantastic.”

“I’m going to die before we get there, aren’t I?” 

“Probably.”

“Can’t wait.” Tsukishima walks the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, half-listening to the terrible dialogue on-screen and Yamaguchi reciting his favorite lines, and thinks, _this. This is good. I don’t need or want anything more than what I have right now._

 

***

 

The next time Tsukishima goes to the shop for his appointment, he finds his eyes wandering past the waiting room and into the studio. _Yamaguchi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. There’s no guarantee that Kuroo’s even going to - oh_ \- a chair swivels into view and then there’s that mop of chaotic black hair.

Kuroo’s brows are pinched together in concentration. The woman in his chair laughs like she made some short of joke, but Kuroo waits a moment, still too focused, before he looks up and responds with a laugh of his own, the bassy sound of it carrying all the way through to the waiting room.

He wipes the area on her thigh where he’s working, reaches back to where his ink is neatly arranged, and then turns back to his work, the cackle fading into an intense focus once again. Tsukishima watches him work, the careful way his hands move --

“--Tsukishima-san?”

He snaps back into himself to reply to the woman at the front desk. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“It’ll be a few minutes before he’s ready, so feel free to have a seat while you wait.”

“Yea, no problem. I’m early anyway.”

Tsukishima sits in one of the hard, plastic chairs and opens the book he brought on his lap. Last time he was here, he found it easy to be pulled back into his reading, even with the metal music playing, but today he rereads the same paragraph three times before giving up and letting his eyes wander the shop.

His eyes dart between the art hung on the walls. _That one looks like a blue version of one of Yachi’s crime scenes. Weird. At least that one looks like something. Nice flowers, even if they are a bit abstract. Kuroo’s wearing a black t-shirt today._ Tsukishima sharply pulls his eyes back to the walls. It works for all of five seconds before he’s inwardly remarking on the impossible tightness of the fabric around Kuroo’s upper arms.

Tsukishima groans inwardly at his own reactions until he finds the most rational explanation. _It’s natural for me to be curious._ He reasons. _After all, I look a lot different than I did back then. It’s how the brain processes discrepant information. I have an expectation based on previous information. Current reality is different. I intake data. My brain learns new information._

He feels a bit better, relaxing a little against the back of the chair. But until he’s called back, Tsukishima holds his book up in front of his face.

 

***

 

When his artist comes to get him, Tsukishima tries hard to keep his body turned away from Kuroo and prays that the other man’s much too focused on his work to notice him walking through. 

Even if Kuroo does look his way, Tsukishima won’t see it, won’t know about it, will make sure it's the furthest thing from his mind. _So stop thinking about it now,_ he fusses at himself and small talks with his artist about how it’s healed so far.

Once he’s back in the chair, Tsukishima’s able to close his eyes and ignore the rest of the room. He’s glad his feet are pointed towards a wall and that his artist isn’t the talking type.

Except for the moments when he pauses to drink water and let the worst of the pain pass through him, Tsukishima sits back and revels in the almost meditative-like state he feels when he gets a new tattoo, listening to the hum and feeling the vibrations of the machine at work on his skin.

When it’s all said and done, he feels tired and has to finish the rest of the water bottle they gave him before he feels alert enough to stand on his own two feet. He saunters to the mirror and can’t help but smiliing at the finished piece. It’s so much better than he imagined. 

The shading on the tree itself is beyond anything he could have hoped for. It looks almost real. And then the books -- their colors aren’t too loud, they somehow all fit together. And yet each one has something bright and unique about it. He turns back around. “It’s amazing. Thank you.” He says, voice a little quieter than he intended and the stoic older man just gives him a small nod of appreciation.

It’s only then that Tsukishima realizes that Kuroo’s station is empty. Something small that tastes like disappointment begins to gnaw away at the wonderful feeling he got when he looked in the mirror. 

_It’s fine. I didn’t want to do anything anyway. Dodged that bullet._ He gathers his things, takes a second to admire the work once again in the huge mirror, and ducks back out to the waiting room.

Kuroo’s there, leaning against the front desk and chatting with the woman who greeted him earlier. Tsukishima feels his legs grow rigid as he continues walking like nothing has changed. When he stops, he makes sure his body is angled so his back is to Kuroo. He makes it look like he’s just resting his arm, which is a good excuse because it truly is tender as hell and he very much would like to rest it for a minute. Or ten.

She turns her head and looks ecstatic to see him, or more accurately, the finished tattoo. “Oh, Iwaguchi-san, you’ve done it again.” She looks Tsukishima in the eye, her grungy, goth look completely in contrast with her upbeat tone. “You’ll have to come back once it’s all healed. I have a feeling he’s going to want a picture of this.”

The older artist shrugs. “All my work is excellent.” There’s a spark of something in his eyes, but his tone remains flat. “But it’s true that this one was interesting.”

“See?” The woman at the desk points at him. “He’s over the moon. Sorry he’s got no personality.”

“I rather appreciated that part.” Tsukishima says.

Iwaguchi grins. “He understands. A good client. Come back or don’t, up to you. But do call or email me if you have questions while it heals.”

They say goodbye after Tsukishima thanks him again, but as Tsukishima settles his bill, he can feel a set of eyes on him. This whole time he’s tried to keep his body turned so he didn’t have to look directly at Kuroo, but he’s getting harder to ignore. _Did he wait for me or something?_ Suddenly all the advice Yamaguchi gave him feels like a pack of lies. _This is so much harder than he makes it sound._

“Mind if I have a look?” He hears Kuroo say behind him. “I don’t hide the fact that I’m a huge fan of Iwaguchi’s work.”

Tsukishima’s whole body feels tense again, but he tries to move like it isn’t. He holds out his left arm and both Kuroo and the woman get a closer look. Under the tight, clear bandage there’s already some plasma creating tiny colorful rivers, but Tsukishima still looks on it with pride even though he didn’t make it happen. He did create it, though. It exists in the first place because of him. The idea was something he’d thought about for some time now. 

He lets them make say nice things about their coworker’s artistry while he searches for a totally normal and human thing to say after the silence goes on a bit too long. “How have you been?”

Kuroo looks up from his arm and that toothy grin of his stretches across his face. Tsukishima can imagine that same grin behind a volleyball net. “Eh, not much. Work. Playing shows.”

“You’re in a band?” Tsukishima keeps his elbow resting on the desk because it feels better than letting it hang by his side right now, but he slowly pulls it away from the other two. The woman sits back down and returns to furiously typing at her computer.

“Two actually.” And it’s clear from the way his smile grows that this is exactly where he wanted the conversation to go. That face is familiar, too familiar. The years apart haven’t changed it at all. _I almost expect him to call me ‘Tsukki’ and either tease me or try to pull a compliment out of me._

Tsukishima tries to leave no room in the conversation for either. “That’s interesting.” _Not ‘cool,’ he’d probably make some comment about me calling him ‘cool.’ ‘Interesting’ is fine._

“How about you?”

It’s so normal and bland, Tsukishima’s a little surprised. He recalibrates, replies with the same, boring lines he uses on everyone else. “Good, just work. Not much else.” He wills his mouth shut before he mentions his writing, not even sure why the thought came to his mind at all.

He watches Kuroo rock on his heels. At the same time Tsukishima catches himself worrying his fingers at the hem of his shirt. Tsukishima forces his hand to be still. He wants, so badly, for this interaction to be over. The forced nature of it is agonizing. 

But he’s also not sure if he’ll see Kuroo again.

And he’s not sure why that bothers him.

Tsukishima looks away from where Kuroo’s biting his top lip. He didn’t even realize he was staring. Tsukishima’s eyes dart up, his eyes meeting Kuroo’s in a much-too-close stare. His mouth starts moving before his brain can put a stop to it, “If you still wanted to grab a beer and catch up sometime, that’d be okay.”

For a moment, the only thing he can hear is his stupid heartbeat, and the only thing he can feel is the bothersome flush of sheer embarrassment threatening to creep up from his chest to his neck. _What a stupid thing to say. It was dumb when he said it last time and it’s even worse for me to repeat it now._

“Yea, that’d be awesome.” Kuroo stands up a little straighter, squares his shoulders. That grin stays glued in place. “Not today, though. I literally just told my last client that she’d have to turn down drinks tonight. Bad idea with all the, uh, extra blood and juice swimming around.” Kuroo motions towards Tsukishima’s arm.

Tsukishima’s thoughts are so loud he nearly forgets to listen. “Oh yea, not a good mix. So-- great, some other day--” Tsukishima reaches for his phone. That’s probably the next natural step. Pick a day? Exchange numbers? He’ll just have to make sure Kuroo doesn’t see that he still has his from years ago.

“I have a show on Saturday. You want to come to that? The cover charge is only 500 yen, but,” he clicks his tongue and winks, “I can get you in for free.”

 _Still a giant dork._ A live show, that's okay. Tsukishima loves music and he hasn't been to a show in a while. His tastes are particular though. And there will be a crowd. Probably drunk people. Maybe in a small room. It’s not Tsukishima’s first choice. Or his second. Or twentieth. But Yamaguchi picks that exact moment to run back through his mind - different can be good. Tsukishima inwardly groans, _I’ll be sure to yell at him later when I hate this._

“Yea, why not?” Tsukishima says, even though he can think of so many reasons why not -- _at least we won’t really be able to talk, not like a slow, awkward conversation at a bar. A silver lining._ “I can give you my number so you can text me the details.”

Kuroo’s grin slips a little. He rocks back on his heels again, back and forth. “Weird story, I, uh, still have your number from years ago. Guess it just moved with me from phone-to-phone.”

Tsukishima’s not at all sure what to do with that information, so he quickly pushes it out of his mind. “Alright, well, just let me know and I’ll be there.” Tsukishima slowly moves his arm off the desk top and shifts his shoulder bag like he’s ready to leave.

He is ready to leave. Really ready now.

Kuroo looks excited. _Too excited._ “Awesome. It’s on Saturday, so I guess I’ll see you Saturday.” And then Kuroo gives him an honest-to-god thumbs up. It hovers there between them until Kuroo shoves his hand into his jeans pocket.

Suddenly Tsukishima feels better, like he can’t possibly be the most awkward person in the room. He relaxes a little. “I guess so. Good seeing you.” He makes a small wave, takes a few steps towards the door, and immediately tenses up again when Kuroo takes a step towards him.

Thankfully, he stops. That grin spreads from ear-to-ear again. “Yea, you, too. And the new tattoo really does look awesome.”

Tsukishima tries his best to make a very normal, not too weird, not too rude smile of his own. Years of Yamaguchi’s comments on his behavior are playing on a loop in his head. “Thanks. See you Saturday.” He’s almost certain he looks like an insane robot.

But Kuroo just waves before he turns to leave. “See ya!”

 

***

 

As he walks out of the shop, Tsukishima takes a deep breath and tries to relax his shoulders. It doesn’t work very well. He unlocks his phone and quickly types a message to Yamaguchi--  
**[17:58]:** You need to get out of my head.  
**[17:58]:** Also I’m possibly going to send Mister to murder you.

The reply is instant --  
**Tadashi [17:59]:** He never would! He loves me.  
**Tadashi [18:00]:** Also, haaaaa, what’d I do this time?

Tsukishima groans aloud, tilting his head back until the summer sun forces him to look back down. He types out his reply but it takes him a while to press send.  
**[18:03]:** I’m going to see Kuroo-san’s band play show on Saturday.  
**[18:03]:** what a ridiculous sentence that is.

 **Tadashi [18:03]:** ＼(＾▽＾)／

 

***

 

Tsukishima’s lying on the couch with Mister purring loudly on his stomach from all the pampering and pets he’s received this evening when his phone vibrates. He picks it up, expecting it to be Yamaguchi again, but instead he sees Kuroo’s name flash across the screen--

 **Kuroo-san [20:08]:** For Saturday, the doors open at 7. We’re the second opener. Should be on around 9.  
**Kuroo-san [20:08]:** We’re “Glory Days.” Cheesy, I know.  
**Kuroo-san [20:10]:** Here’s the address and a picture of what the place looks like. See you there! Happy healing!

Tsukishima throws his head back against his throw pillows. “Mister,” he whines, stroking the white spot on his cat’s head, “I’m such an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry. Ibuki at the desk is going to comment on Kuroo’s thumbs up and overuse of the word “awesome” in the next chapter.
> 
> Next up, Tsukishima's going to live like the young man he is and go to a good, ol' fashioned rock 'n' roll show. HA.
> 
> Thanks for reading and (hopefully) still enjoying the journey!  
> \\(★ω★)/ Y'all are awesome! *awkward thumbs up*


	5. I’ll give him something to think about later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo gets made fun of by a coworker, stresses a bit, and then finds his self-assured flow at the Saturday show.

_Kuroo_

The moment the door closes behind Tsukishima, Ibuki’s mouth drops open in a silent elated scream and her wide eyes fall on Kuroo. “What happened to you? Did your brain stop working?”

“It wasn’t--”

“You gave him a thumbs up. You said _awesome_ three times.”

Kuroo groans, wiping his hands down his face. “I know! I know. It’s like once I thought of the word awesome the only think I could think was _awesome, awesome, awesome._ ”

“I was literally giving Nakayama a play-by-play of your little disaster.”

“What?” Kuroo shrieks. “You didn’t.”

Ibuki flips her work laptop screen around and there’s her messaging app, documenting minute-by-minute everything that just happened. With Nakayama adding her own colorful commentary, of course.

Kuroo slumps against the counter part of her desk. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Not at first. First you were a human, but then--” Ibuki sits back in her chair, points with two cheesy finger-guns and recites, “but I can get you in for free.” She then winks with her whole face.

Kuroo laughs hard and stands back up. “I did not do finger guns.”

“Everything you said had the _spirit_ of finger guns, so I added them.”

“Did I really wink?”

“You really did.” Ibuki checks her phone when it vibrates with an incoming message. “Nakayama is certain you’re in love with this guy and that you’re hiding a much more interesting backstory.”

“Tell her no, for the last time, no. I told her the whole story. There was nothing back then.”

“But now?” Ibuki leans forward on her elbows on her desktop. She wiggles her eyebrows, her piecing accentuating the movement. “He’s hot, Kuroo. You should hit that. Just get up in there and make a mess.”

She tilts her chin at the last bit, smug in her own filth. Kuroo has no idea what Ibuki’s like in her personal life. He’s curious but also does not want to know.

“I don’t want to hit that.” Kuroo says, his voice drifting off towards the end. He’s never once been the hit it and quit it guy, never had a one night stand. Well, at least not one where he knew that’s what it was. He’s always been the idiot who caught feelings fast and thought it was going somewhere. Dating’s better. Even when it always ends. _But I don’t want to--_

“But you do want to do something, right? You invited him to your show. While repeating the word _awesome._ ”

“I don’t know. He’s just--” Kuroo tries to place the feelings he’s been having. It’s not his normal instant attraction. And he can’t remember the last time he sounded that stupid by accident. On purpose, for laughs, sure, but not when he was trying to have a regular conversation. “He’s so much _different_ than he used to be.”

“In a good way?”

“I guess it’s good. Like, surprised the hell out of me good. But he’s also still himself. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“But,” she pauses, a mischievous look in her eye, “you definitely want to put your face on his face.”

“No. Plus, there’s absolutely no signs he’d even be interested.”

“You’ve got to be blind. Or an idiot. Or both.”

“Good night, Ibuki.” Kuroo rolls his eyes and grabs his bag from the floor.

“No!” She yells, throwing out both her arms. She drops back into the cute voice she only uses for customers. “Please? Stay and keep me company until I’m done.”

“You probably would be finished if you were actually working this whole time and not texting Nakayama about me.”

Ibuki switches back to her natural voice. “Yea, probably. But what’s the fun in that?”

Kuroo huffs in protest but he settles into the extra desk chair beside her. From there he can see most of what the two of them were talking about and he feels a hot flush creeping up his neck.

At least Ibuki takes mercy on him and they switch to talking about their respective creative outlets. Ibuki types away on the keyboard completing the schedule for the next two weeks as she describes some of the new pieces she’s working on. She tells him about her oil paintings that are going to be part of a show in the next few weeks. “I’m going through a floral phase, yea? But I’m working in technological elements, too. So, picture, like, a cherry blossom limb with wires running through it or a lily with gears down the stem.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, but Kuroo knows better.

He’s seen her art before -- big and bold, vibrant and colorful -- so different from her all-black outfits. Several of the pieces in the waiting room are hers, and Kuroo thinks that before he leaves this shop one day he’ll get her to design something and have Iwaguchi be the one who makes it a piece of him forever.

Ibuki asks him about the new EP, how it’s coming along. Kuroo talks about it like a proud father. In front of someone like Ibuki who also creates things and shoves them out into the world in their vulnerable state, he feels safe gushing over the parts that he’s most excited about and, probably just as importantly, venting his current frustrations. She celebrates with him, commisterates, too, until they lock up and part ways outside the shop.

Kuroo walks back towards the train station humming bars of the yet-unnamed song and overthinking the set list for Saturday a little more than he usually would.

 

***

 

The green room at Glory Days’ favorite venue is hardly that. It’s more like purgatory between the bar and the stage, a place where all the chairs are a little bit broken and there’s that one fluorescent light that’s been flickering since they began performing here over a year ago.

Kuroo’s off to himself, as much as he can be in the tiny room, leaning on his forearms in one of the broken chairs, drumming his pen again the notepad in his hands, and trying very hard not to walk back out to the bar to see if a certain blond is out in the crowd yet.

“What about if we put ‘Heart of Darkness’ right before ‘Restart?’”

Oyori and Alisa look up from where they’re hunched together on the old sofa, looking at animal videos Alisa’s stockpiled over the past few days. They’re currently replaying two otters holding hands while sleeping. Alisa’s clutching her hands against her chest like it’s causing her physical pain and Oyori has a gentle smile peeking out from behind their long, black hair - the most Oyori will ever emote.

“Why are you messing with the setlist again?” Oyori asks, annoyance in their voice.

Alisa’s kinder. “We already liked the one we had. Ran through it in practice. Flowed well.”

“I just wonder if--”

“You’re overthinking.” Tora’s stretching off in his own corner. His shirt’s already gone. Somewhere. Of course it is.

The sound of the band currently playing keeps making them raise the level of their voices, even in the tiny room. They’re loud, getting the crowd moving from the vibrations in the floor, but -- unedited, Kuroo thinks, like we used to be.

“I still think we should throw in another song from the EP.” Soga doesn’t look up from his laptop where he’s editing photos of the band to post later.

Kuroo throws up a hand, “See! I agree. We could--”

“No,” Tora throws his head back, “we’re not having that discussion again. One’s good.”

Kenma walks in through the back door carrying a box. He shoots Kuroo a look the moment the heavy metal door slams behind him. “I’m _not_ selling merch tonight. One of you can do it.” He drops the box on the floor and slumps into the couch next to Oyori and Alisa.

“Not it!” Alisa shouts, giggling and sticking her finger on the tip of her nose.

The rest of the group follows suit and only Kuroo is too slow to the draw.

Kuroo leans back against his chair, resigned to his fate, for all of ten seconds before he remembers why he absolutely cannot sell merch tonight.

He sets his eyes on Kenma across the room and tries as hard as he can to say in a pitiful look, “please, Kenma, my best friend, light of my life, I cannot sell merch because Tsukishima might be here, no, will be here or is here already and I have to talk to him.”

Kenma stares back, eyes blank. “What?”

The rest of the band is in the dark about his current Definitely Not a Big Deal situation and he’d prefer to keep it that way as long as possible. Kuroo pulls out his phone and hammers out a message --

 **[20:17]:** Kenmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa  
**[20:17]:** I can’t sell shit today, remember?

 **Kenma Kitty [20:17]:** why

 **[20:17]:** you KNOW why. Scroll up if you’ve magically forgotten

 **Kenma Kitty [20:18]:** I remember - I just wanted you to say it  
**Kenma Kitty [20:18]:** you’re making a really big deal out of it

 **[20:18]:** it’s not a big deal, I just want to be polite  
**[20:18]:** you know, ‘cause I invited him and all

 **Kenma Kitty [20:18]:** mmhmm  
**Kenma Kitty [20:18]:** but I’m not selling things - I did it last time and it was horrible - so many people - figure it out

Kuroo groans and melts back into his chair. A few heads turn in his direction. “Guys, can I please not sell merch tonight? I’ve got a good reason.”

Tora stretches his arms up towards the ceiling then settles his hands on his hips looking down at Kuroo. “Oh yea, like what? Is it that bartender, the uh, the one with the short hair, calls you ‘Kuroo-chan,’” he acts out flirty gestures with Soga as he talks, “and makes you better drinks than we all get? Oh wait no, that’d be two bartenders in a row, hmm, but the last one was a dude, so maybe that doesn’t count --”

“No, no, Tora it’s not the bartender. It’s an old friend. You, uh, might remember him actually. Tall, blond haired middle blocker from Karasuno the year I was captain. Tsukishima.”

Yamamoto pinches his brows together and his lip curls while he thinks. “Did he have shitty face?”

“That’s rude, man.”

“No, like, he did this a lot--” What follows is a pretty good impression of the way Tsukishima would stare at opposing players across the net. Smug, full of attitude. But Tora forgot the shrewd calculating part.

“Yea, that’s the one.”

Tora scrunches his face. “Why’s he here?”

The question is lost when a spark of recognition lights in Alisa’s eyes. “Wait, was he the one with those, like, goggle glasses? I think I remember him from the year I went to Nationals.”

And suddenly there’s a way more people talking about Tsukishima than he would have liked. Alisa and Tora keep trying to place him, but the conversation mercifully flows to just reminiscing over that year they went to Nationals together and no one remembers to ask “why’s he here?” again.

Except Kenma. He stares at Kuroo, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised, looking like he’s feeling his familiar mix of exasperation and understanding.

Kuroo looks back the notepad, mentally running through the setlist one more time and waiting for that rush of chaotic confidence that hits him like a freight train once they’re on stage.

 

***

 

Tora says the moment he walks out on stage, drum sticks in hand, shirt already off, he feels like he’s breathing in lightning, like the crowd and the lights are all some sort of power that takes over his whole body.

Alisa says that no matter how many times she’s taken the mic on stage, it still feels like the first time. She gets a rush of jitters, her heartbeat races, then her bandmates start playing and she forgets about her nerves. She falls in love with the songs all over again and sings her heart out for them.

Oyori says it’s the most calm they ever feel, that those moments right before touching the strings on their bass are when they feel the most at home.

Soga says he focuses on the audience, takes a moment to look at as many faces as he can because that’s his favorite part of this whole sometimes ridiculous, always exciting thing they do. He soaks in that anticipation, that tension, this almost spiritual link with a small sea of strangers.

For Kuroo, when he walks out he lets each step put more distance between himself and the business of running a band. His constant inner monologue over the setlist, their merch, their marketing grows quieter with each step until it’s silent. He can see the crowd, knows they’re noisy, but he doesn’t hear much of anything at all. The hum of the hustle morphs into a feeling like he’s in plane staring down at the Earth, his toes hanging off the edge, then he nods to Alisa and jumps.

Their set starts loud and heavy, dropping in hard, all guitar and drums demanding to hold the attention of the room. Alisa screams her way into the song and then it’s quiet. Alisa sings the first few bars of the verse, gentle but building to another drop. 

It’s jarring, or at least Kuroo hopes it is. He likes to shove and then pull back, to be loud and then make everyone listen to the stillness that follows. Not every song is like this, but Glory Days has been opening with this one every time and he’s never been disappointed with the reaction.

Not that Kuroo would know from the audience’s faces. Kuroo never looks at individuals in the crowd. It’s too hard to focus when he’s in the flow of playing and he’s trained himself to look above them, to not hang up on any one person’s reaction. But he does feel the energy of the room. It starts low with so many new ears unsure of what they’re about to hear. He waits, impatiently, for that energy to grow, for the bodies jostling around to dive with him into the moment. 

Some nights are better than others. Some crowds are better than others. Tonight’s vibe is a good one and he feels like he can ride that energy through the rest of the set and off into the rest of the night. His confidence spikes. During a speedy water break he toys with the end of t-shirt, deciding. He makes the mistake of scanning the crowd.

Off to the left, opposite the bar. By himself. Blond hair. Tall. Tough to see clearly in the crowd, but impossible not to notice tonight.

Kuroo feels another swell of of the crowd’s energy rush through him. He grabs a handful of his shirt from the back and yanks it off his head. He looks back in Tsukishima’s direction, smirks, and picks up his guitar. He closes his eyes and breathes in the moment, waiting for Tora to count them back in to the next song. 

_I’ll give him something to think about later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Goodness. So many things got written and then moved to different chapters, then moved back, then... phew. I really had to let this one simmer for a few extra days. It's very Kuroo-focused, but it was interesting to figure out ways to describe playing music. I went to a concert last week, watched some of my favorite bands live on youtube, and tried to imagine what it would be like on *that* side of the stage, you know? I bet it's a weird brand of breathtaking.
> 
> Aaaaanywho (￣▽￣*)ゞ thanks for reading! Definitely, absolutely more Tsukishima in Ch 6.
> 
> ***
> 
> Music side notes: ヽ(⌐■_■)ノ♪♬
> 
> The fic's namesake is "Longshot" by Catfish and the Bottlemen. That and their song "soundcheck" were very influential in the beginning stages of this fic and if this fic had a soundtrack those would both be on there.
> 
> Glory Days is a kind of post-hardcore, alt rock band. I modeled them in my imagination heavily off of The Marmozets. Female front. Some screaming, but also beautiful singing. Great instrumentals. And again, if there was a soundtrack, they'd be on there. Especially "Meant to Be" and "Young and Free."


	6. Where are we going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima's POV
> 
> Tsukishima gets some good news, enjoys time with his cat, and watches Kuroo while having some _thoughts_.

_Tsukishima_

Saturday morning, Tsukishima wakes up later than he would have liked. He worked late with Yachi the night before. They’ve been trying to get on the less-stressful side of some deadlines. Not to mention they’re also doubling down on their efforts to tailor their work to send off to specific publishers. 

They agree that it doesn’t need to be traditional publishing. They just want something that will get them somewhere in the long-term. Somewhere that might support them past just giving them access to publish on an app and then taking a lot of money off the top like their current situation. It feels like they’ve been throwing their work out into the void for months now and he wishes he could catch some of Yachi’s optimism.

When Tsukishima turns over on his pillow, Mister is right there beside him, pressing his face against him in an urgent need for food. Mister’s a quiet cat, but he speaks volumes with his impatient shoves. Tsukishima gives him gentle morning scratches, thanking him for at least waiting until his owner started moving to begin begging. He’ll just ignore the fact that his cat was definitely staring at him while he slept.

In his kitchen, there’s coffee growing cold and sludgy in his automatic coffee maker. He was ambitious when he set the timer last night, thinking he’d get up at a reasonable hour. He dumps a hearty amount in a pale blue mug and sets it in his microwave to warm it up. After feeding Mister, he watches his mug turn on the glass plate and stops the appliance right before it hits zero because he hates the sound it makes. Grabbing a granola bar, he makes his way to his couch and picks up his laptop.

He barely manages to open it before Mister sits on his keyboard. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint.” Tsukishima lets him sit there, scratches his ears and his neck while holding his coffee in his other hand. He stares out at the late morning sun through his sliding glass door and wonders if he should move his succulents so they can get more light in the morning.

Mister abruptly leaps off his lap, apparently done with physical touch for now and saunters back towards his food bowl in the kitchen.

The email notification on his laptop sounds. His phone vibrates beside him twice in a row. He sighs. The day’s already catching up with me.

The first is a calendar reminder on his phone. Kuroo’s show. Tonight. He winces, already feeling the swell of anxiety brewing in his stomach. But the guilt he feels from cancelling plans is always worse than the knot in his guts from going. He’ll go. It’s fine.

He checks the next notification. A text from Yachi--

 **Yachi [11:04]:** CHECK YOUR EMAIL RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!

Tsukishima sets down his phone and does what the screaming text tells him. There’s a lot of junk, but a few lines down from the top is a message from an unfamiliar sender. The name rings a bell in the back of his mind but he can’t place it. The subject says, “Request for Meeting.” Things start clicking together. Quickly, Tsukishima opens the email and his suspicions are wonderfully confirmed.

Months ago now, they’d sent off their work during a publisher’s open call for submissions. And now someone wants to meet with them. Soon. She liked the story. It has potential, but there are others in the running. Needs to meet with them first.

He presses the call button as soon as his fingers work. Yachi picks up the phone with a high-pitched yell.

“I know.” He replies.

Yachi just keeps screaming. His face breaks out in a grin and he waits for her lungs to wear out.

“Did you read it?” She gasps.

“Obviously.”

From there the conversation goes so fast, his head spins. Yachi starts. “She gave a couple days, when do we--”

“I’m fine any day, work from home, so--”

“I don’t care. Any day!”

“But you work--”

“I. Don’t. Care. I’ll take off work. Or quit. I hate it there.”

“Don’t quit.”

“I know, but --”

“What day?”

Yachi makes a sound of frustration on the other end. Tsukishima can hear paper shuffling. “Tuesday, I can do the Tuesday slot she offered.”

“Tuesday it is.”

Yachi squeaks out a little scream again. “I know it’s not certain but --”

“I was just about to say that but I didn’t want to sound like a jerk.”

She laughs until her voice levels out again. “You’re not a jerk. Just practical. But my god, it’s something. For the first time in months it’s something.”

 _It might not go anywhere, but she’s right. It’s something._ “What are you doing for lunch? I just woke up and have an old granola bar next to me that I didn’t eat yet.”

They make plans to have a working lunch to prepare. Yachi practically vibrates through the whole thing. Tsukishima feels like he can hear her thoughts they’re so loud. 

He doesn’t text anything to Yamaguchi or Aki yet, though. It’s way too soon.

 

***

 

The afternoon goes by in such a enthusiastic, chaotic blur that he almost forgets to be worried about his evening. It’s not until he’s done eating a simple dinner he made at home and getting dressed to go out that he realizes he doesn’t know what to wear.

Usually he wears a t-shirt and jeans to shows. Nothing interesting, especially since he typically goes to shows alone. It’s something for him to enjoy by himself. But now his thoughts are consumed with -- _which t-shirt? Which pair of jeans? Which sneakers? Why do I care?_

In his bathroom mirror he pulls at the bags under his eyes, runs his fingers through his hair. He pushes his glasses up his nose and steps back. Just a white t-shirt from some indie band he saw with Yamaguchi years ago, dark jeans. He cuffs his sleeves so more of his tattoo shows. Looks in the mirror, rolls them back down.

He gives Mister a kiss on the head when he passes the back of the couch, then throws on his favorite old sneakers and walks out into the still-warm and humid Tokyo night.

Tsukishima’s no stranger to shows in small venues, but the moment he walks in, he knows the crowd at this one is going to be different than what he’s used to. At most of his shows, the room is filled with people not-so-subtly trying to out-style one another but maintain an aura of giving fewer fucks than anyone else. The crowd sways to the chill music, some singing along in an almost trance, matching the mood on stage. 

From the outfits, the hair, the tattoos, and the yelling, Tsukishima doesn’t think anyone’s going to be swaying at this show.

His strategy is the same, though. Stay off to the side. Enjoy the music. Leave quickly.

And Kuroo did, in fact, get him in for free. The bouncer had a crumpled sticky note in his pocket with ‘Tsukishima Kei’ hastily scrawled across it.

So he guesses he has to add ‘speak to Kuroo’ to that list.

He’s settling into a comfortable spot by a door on the far side of the bar, contemplating getting a cheap beer but unwilling to give up his spot, when a flash of instantly recognizable black and blond hair crosses his view.

 _Nekoma’s setter. Kozume, something Kozume._ Formidable in Tsukishima’s first year. Downright terrifying when they crossed paths in his second.

The shorter man makes no attempts to hide the fact that he’s staring back. His eyes narrow but his gaze holds even as others pass by in between them. Tsukishima feels like he’s being assessed. He stands still but his toes move nervously in his old, black sneakers.

Then he turns his head and walks away. Tsukishima’s left with a familiar thought, though it’s been years since it’s crossed his mind. _I still don’t think he likes me very much._

He’s left stewing in a weird feeling that has him shifting uncomfortably in his spot against the wall, again considering a beer to ease his nerves. He chews the inside of his lip, then pushes himself off the wall, but then the lights go down. The room gets dark. Half the crowd grows quieter, the other half keeps right on yelling and drinking. He settles back against the wall.

An odd sensation washes over him the moment Kuroo’s band walks out on stage. In every way, Kuroo’s the same as he was at the tattoo shop, the same as he was in high school, down to that ridiculous hair and his black t-shirts, but there’s something else that makes Tsukishima take a deep breath in to ground himself when he feels the rest of the room fading away. 

It’s quiet in his head as Kuroo moves his hands along the neck of his guitar, his fingers gliding up and down the strings. Tsukishima hears his heartbeat growing in his ears when Kuroo nods and he waits for the sound about hit him.

Then everything’s loud. The music. His thoughts. It’s a rush of sound and a scream, and then it stills, fading back into the lead singer’s melodic voice. It’s not at all what he typically chooses, but it hits him square in the chest in a way he doesn’t hate. It’s orderly chaos. Intentional mayhem. And though there’s five people on stage, Tsukishima only sees one at the center of the storm. Kuroo looks strong. Sure of himself. Proud of his craft.

Tsukishima stares until his mouth is dry, not realizing it had been open the whole time. He feels a stirring in his stomach.

Curse the part of his brain, that instinct-driven lizard brain, that equates musicians with being attractive.

He fights it, focuses on everyone else in the band, but his eyes keep drifting until he gives up and lets them remain there. Tsukishima watches him play, sees the way he carries the energy of the music, hears his voice when he takes the mic for backup vocals. It’s all so loud and not at all what he likes, but he lets himself stare.

And then that idiot takes his shirt off.

Tsukishima’s certain those eyes find his in the crowd, but he knows it’s stupid, knows Kuroo is just performing. But he lets himself indulge in some half-concocted fantasy that he already knows he’s regret having later when he comes back into his right mind.

Kuroo’s just as fit as he’d imagined looking at how he squeezed in that black shirt at the shop. And now his ink is on display. Tsukishima can’t make out the details from this far away, but now he knows that, in addition to the ones on his arms, Kuroo has a tattoo running the length of his side, stretching down his ribs and reaching towards his chest and that’s information he’s not sure what to do with.

So he just keeps staring, surprised that the music doesn’t sound that loud anymore.

 

***

 

Kuroo finds him impossibly quickly after the show. Tsukishima’s just begun scanning the room, looking for that rooster-reminiscent hair, when he feels a hand fall over his shoulder. He spins out of the hold and turns around.

 _Hot_. One word screams on repeat in his head. Kuroo’s dripping in sweat. _Hot_. His hair is falling over his forehead. _Hot_. He swipes it back with one hand and it stays there, slicked back. It should be gross but it’s -- _hot_.

“What’d ya think?” Kuroo’s smile is wide after he yells the question over the noise in the bar. Somehow that’s hot, too.

“You guys are good.” Tsukishima shouts back, instinctively leaning in to make sure he’s heard. “Not my typical thing, but good.”

“Aw Tsukki, you’ll make me blush.” Kuroo takes a step forward and claps Tsukishima on his arm, his fingers gently gripping the sleeve of Tsukishima’s t-shirt. “I’ve gotta help break down everything, but will ‘ya still be here in a few minutes?”

A few minutes is all he needs to clear his head and stop reacting _this much_ to Kuroo’s hand being in his personal space. “Yea, I’ll be here. Outside, though.”

Kuroo raises a questioning eyebrow then leans in further so his ear isn’t far from Tsukishima’s mouth. “I’ll be outside.” He repeats.

Kuroo pulls back and nods, giving his arm another squeeze before disappearing back into the crowd.

Instantly, Tsukishima makes a mad dash towards the exit, crossing the room in big steps until he’s back out in the night air, almost choking as he takes gulps of it into his lungs.

He needs to get a hold of himself, stop letting stupid nonsense get to him this much. It was fun and indulgent, but this is real life again. Finding a place for himself at the corner of the building, he reaches into his back pocket, not the one that holds his phone but the one that holds his squished, dwindling packet of slender vices. Carefully he pulls out a cigarette and readies his lighter, feeling instant release but also a heavy weight of guilt press down on his shoulders the moment he breathes it in. He closes his eyes. The sting in his lungs grounds him again. He enjoys a blissful few moments to himself before --

“You know that’s bad for you.”

His eyes fly open and there’s Kuroo standing in front of him. He lets his hand fall to his side, the cigarette still burning. “So I’ve been told.”

Kuroo’s changed his clothes but his hair’s still slicked back more than usual. He’s wearing a shirt from some band Tsukishima’s never heard of. The street lights outside the bar are hitting his face at an odd angle, casting sharp shadows. 

“So, you still want to get a beer?” His voice sounds raspier than usual, deeper. _Probably from performing_ , Tsukishima thinks, then tries really hard not to remember Kuroo playing on stage.

He glances back towards the bar behind him. “Does it have to be here?” He grimaces.

Kuroo grins. “No.”

Tsukishima shrugs, forcing an ease that he doesn’t truly feel. “Then, sure.”

“You gonna finish that first?” Kuroo points to his hand.

Tsukishima drops the cigarette as an answer, toes the lit end with his shoe to snuff it out before he gets rid of it. “Where are we going?”

 

***

 

The bar they end up at feels more like an extension of someone’s home than a bar. The whole place is filled with dark wood, but it’s warmly lit over each of the booths, and over every few bar stools. The bartender looks only a little older than them, but next to him is a woman that is much older, looking tired but absolutely in charge.

Kuroo waves to the staff as he walks in, gets a friendly welcome in response, and falls heavily into a booth tucked towards the back corner. The backs of the booths are sturdy and high wooden barriers, giving each section the feeling that it’s almost a room by itself, except for the clear view of the bar with its plush, but worn looking bar stools.

When they sit down, Tsukishima wonders if the bar stools would be better. Being that close might be weirder, but at least he’d have somewhere else to look. Every time his eyes drift up from the table, he sees Kuroo’s expectant face trying to carry on their conversation from the walk over. It was all small talk, work and unbelievably bland talk about the weather this summer, but Kuroo bounced along, seemingly interested the whole way.

And now they’re here.

And Tsukshima has to talk.

With Kuroo right in front of him.

 _When in doubt, ask others about themselves._ “So, how’d the band get started?”

Kuroo’s sitting up straight in his booth, the air around him still crackling as though he’d just stepped off stage. His hands drum softly on the tabletop. “I’d say it’s a good story, but it’s really not. Pretty normal. We started in college with different people that I --”

The bartender appears beside them and slides a small shot glass in front of Kuroo. He points at the glass and grins. “New whiskey, wanted to see what you thought.” He casts a side glance at Tsukishima. “Guess I should have brought two.”

Tsukishima waves a quick, dismissive hand to show it’s alright. Then Kuroo is tossing back the glass, a pensive look on his face. “It’s dry, kind of subtle, soft. Got an oaky sort of finish, doesn’t it?”

Kuroo has such a self-satisfied grin as he talks that Tsukishima wills his eyes to not roll as far back into his head as he wants them to. _Who says ‘oaky’?_

Kuroo waves his hand, then rests his chin on his open palm. “Ah yea, but then a better option presented itself. If you still want a beer, you can--”

“Nah, whiskey’s fine.” It’s his turn to flip on a familiar smirk of his own. “Though I’m more of a scotch person.” He mentally runs back through his wallet, counting the bills inside. _After lunch today, groceries_ \-- “How much?”

“I got it.” Kuroo interjects. “Old friends and all.”

 _Old friends._ The moniker doesn’t feel like it fits, but the order’s in, the bartender’s walking away. 

There’s a difference between a night out with beer and a night out with whiskey. Tsukishima checks the time on his phone before he tucks it away in his back pocket. Not yet eleven. Still early, still time for smart choices.

“So anyway, the band, yea?” Kuroo has both elbows on the table now, gesturing with his hands as he talks. Tsukishima sits up, folds his arms in front of him. “Started in college and I’m the only founding member left. First I had some people my classes, and Daishou. Wait,” he pauses, chewing his lip, “I don’t think you ever met him. Asshole. Played for Nohebi that year I went to Nationals. Anyway, he was in it, too, but wanted to play different music, so now we got another side thing going. But anyway, I met up with Yamamoto -- Tora -- the guy with the--” Kuroo pushes his hair up in the middle in a fake mohawk, “you remember him?”

Tsukishima nods. “Unfortunately.”

Kuroo laughs. “Ha,” he adds dryly, “he had similar memories of you. So I met up with him my second year and we started shaping how we sound now. Through him I reconnected with Alisa, our singer. She’s Lev’s older sister. The crazy tall half-Russian guy?” Kuroo motions with his hand way up the air. He’s speaking so quickly, it’s clear he’s still riding high on whatever energy he gets out of performing. 

Tsukishima continues to nod along as Kuroo jumps around, telling him how members joined and left. He keeps Kuroo going by asking questions whenever he pauses for a breath.

He learns how Alisa used to play keyboard but then it didn’t really fit. How her singing was able to flourish when that’s what she was able to focus on. How Yamamoto always played drums but now he actually sounds like something instead of just noise. How he met Soga in one of his required health classes in college, “some shit where literally just _walking around a track_ counted for credits,” and when they jammed together Kuroo figured out he brought a smoother sound they needed. How he met Oyori in his philosophy classes, had known her for three years as just another face in his cohort before he learned she played bass - “not just played it, absolutely _owned_ it.”

At some point Tsukishima looks down and realizes his first glass of whiskey is empty and a second one has replaced its spot in his hand. And it’s nearly empty, too. _How long have we--_

“Holy _shit_ , I’ve been talking a long time. Sorry.” Kuroo takes a breath, lifts his second glass to his lips.

Tsukishima swirls the amber brown liquid in his glass. “It’s fine. In line with what I remember. You never did know when to stop talking.”

“Happy to be a comforting reminder.”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

Kuroo grows still, like he's talked himself out. He settles back against the wooden barrier behind him, blinking slowly. Tsukishima doesn’t like the quiet that settles in and his need to fill it. He pulls out a detail from earlier, hoping to get him going again. “So philosophy, huh?”

Swallowing another sip, Kuroo chuckles. “Yep. I’m _deep. Brooding_. I have a degree in philosophy, so naturally, I’m a musician and I get paid to draw on people with needles.”

Tsukishima surprises himself when a small laugh tumbles from his lips. “Well, I got a degree in international business because my parents thought it was a solid investment, so naturally now I translate boring documents from home so I don’t have to interact with anyone. Ever.”

“Except for, I’m thinking--” Kuroo swishes the glass around in front of him, “a cat.”

Tsukishima’s eyes narrow.

“Oh man! I’m right!” Kuroo smacks his empty hand down on the table. The whiskey glass soon follows, now also empty. “You got pictures? I love cats.”

Perhaps it’s just the whiskey making him feel a bit warm. Perhaps it’s simply the draw of nostalgia, like maybe they were old friends once. Tsukishima grabs for his phone and flips through a couple pictures of Mister, trying hard not to grin at the compliments Kuroo throws his way.

And then things get a bit fuzzier around the edges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite OC is Tsukishima's cat.
> 
> *content sigh* ♡( ◡‿◡ ) I feel like we're well on our way to the bits I was most looking forward to writing. Finally! This first drink together was one of them and it continues in the next chapter.
> 
> Both of them have interesting things in the works, too. It's not just the chance for some *loooove* that's keeping them going. I wonder what's on the horizon!
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you're having fun, too!


	7. Brighter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo enjoys another glass of whiskey, some good conversation, and has some interesting thoughts.

_Kuroo_

Leaning forward so he’s almost half-way across the table, Kuroo devours every picture of Tsukishima’s cat that he’s offered. Curled up in a sunbeam. Screaming for food. Stuck in a plant. He learns the cat’s name is Mister and Kuroo decides that’s adorable. 

It doesn’t hurt that the permanent flat line of Tsukishima’s lips has now sparked into an actual smile. Small, but it’s there. And maybe that’s a little adorable, too.

Kuroo also can’t help but notice that Tsukushima’s cheeks are flushed pink and rosy from his second glass of whiskey. That’s the sort of dangerously wonderful thing he’ll file away to process later when he’s trying to reconcile the Tsukishima he thought he knew with the one sitting across from him now, smiling while he talks about his cat.

“What makes Mister extra special?” He asks, and the words feel funny on his tongue. Like maybe he needs food. Or water. Or both because it’s been hours since he’s eaten anything substantial and the whiskey’s working quicker than it normally would after he nearly sweat his body weight on stage.

“What?” Tsukishima shoots back quickly.

“You know, what does he do that makes him so much more special than other cats? I like to ask pet owners that. They _always_ have answers.” Now that Tsukishima’s actually speaking, Kuroo doesn’t want it to stop. It feels like ten years ago, like their text conversations have spring back to life.

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, the smile shifting into a smirk, but he does have an answer ready. “He has a stuffed carrot from when he was a baby that he carries with him from room to room. And he eats with it next to his bowl.”

“Oh,” Kuroo clenches his hands into fists and smiles the way he does when something is too cute, “that’s great. What else?”

Tsukishima’s face rotates through the same subtle reactions. There’s a slight withdrawl. His eyebrows pinch together. He bites his lip. There’s a quick puff of breath out then, “He is exceptionally clever but also prefers to sleep in my bathroom sink.” Tsukishima presents photo evidence and Kuroo presses for more.

But there’s only so much he can ask about a cat. Tsukishima’s answers grow short and staccato, his phone returns to his pocket, and the cat conversation is well and truly over.

The quiet is anything but comfortable. Kuroo feels a jolt of frustration. His shoulders slump. _Why isn’t this easy?_ He knows quiet, more introverted people. Kenma’s his best friend, after all. And Kuroo himself used to be this way. But Kuroo always seems to know what to say to make people feel at ease. Even if he’s putting his foot in his mouth and looking like an idiot, he knows how to make people relax.

He notices that Tsukishima’s upper arm is twitching, like he’s drumming his fingers nervously or picking at his shirt or his pants under the table. The rosiness is still present on his cheeks, but Tsukishima’s eyes are darting around the room.

Kuroo sighs. He could talk more about himself or the band. Tsukishima seemed to enjoy that if his continued efforts to keep Kuroo talking were any indication, but Kuroo doesn’t want to hear himself talk. He wants Tsukishima to keep talking about his cat or tell him something, anything, about the past ten years besides the fact that he works from home now.

So, he gravitates towards the one thing he knows they have in common. “So what’s the story behind the new tattoo?” He leans back in the booth, trying to look like he’s not running constant calculations about how to keep the conversation going. “You don’t have to tell me, by the way,” he adds quickly, picking up on the way Tsukishima seems to pull further away, “because ‘none of your fucking business’ or ‘I just liked it’ are great answers.”

Tsukishima bites his lip again and Kuroo keeps right on talking. He doesn’t mean to, but Tsukishima has slowly, so slowly been relaxing and now he looks uncomfortable again and Kuroo wants to, needs to fix it.

“Like some of mine have these super meaningful stories behind them, others are like, ‘my friend painted a thing and I liked that thing, so I got that thing on my body.’” He briefly considers lifting up his shirt to show off an example of just that.

Down his side is his pride and joy. It’s so not his normal style, but that’s kind of why he loves it. An artist friend of his in college painted a series of fairies, sirens, and nymphs for a senior show, and Kuroo fell in love with this one siren, beautiful and singing sailors to their watery graves. It’s gorgeous but dark and he wants Tsukishima to see it, comment on it, but he keeps his shirt down. Barely.

Kuroo watches Tsukishima’s face run through the same subtle expressions. Retreat into himself. Eyebrows pinch. Kuroo waits for the quick, small sigh. 

Tsukishima leans back and crosses his arms in front of him. “I don’t just translate. I kind of have a side project and the tattoo’s connected to that.” One of Tsukishima’s fingers worries at the rim of his empty whiskey glass, his eyes staring at a space just past Kuroo’s shoulder, but a smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing big, I just write a serialized crime story with a friend of mine who does the illustrations.”

Kuroo’s gaze lands on Tsukishima’s arm, the fresh colors of the books and the tree suddenly popping to life with new vigor. He searches for a reply, a follow-up question, but he’s stunned. _Tsukishima’s a writer? Didn’t see that coming._

Tsukishima’s finger stops trailing the edge of the glass. He pulls it back to his lap with his other hand. The smirk on his face grows and Kuroo wonders if his own surprise is written clear across his face.

Kuroo sits up straighter, gestures towards Tsukishima’s arm. “So, the books are--”

Tsukishima’s finger traces a line down his upper arm, over the spines of the books. “They’re all from my favorite authors. Crime, detective stuff. Some cosmic horror.

“And you write the grizzly, crime-filled, cool detective stuff?” Kuroo asks, leaning forward on the table again.

“Yea,” the corners of Tsukishima’s lips twitch upwards, “something like that.”

“That’s so cool,” Kuroo says, and he means it. He feels his shoulders relaxing again. “Can you tell me more about it?”

That simple question makes Tsukishima’s tiny grin stretch just a bit wider. His eyes glint with something Kuroo can’t quite name, but it stirs up a warm tingle in his chest. When the bartender returns, Kuroo orders another whiskey and a few of his greasy favorites to eat. Tsukishima orders a scotch he likes.

This time, when Tsukishima speaks, it’s like the gradual breaking of a dam. At first his responses to Kuroo’s questions are careful, slow. Only little bits of information peek through before his lips close up tight once again. 

But Kuroo dives a little deeper, asks more questions, and the cracks in the dam start to show before it all bursts forth. It’s a rush for Kuroo, watching the way someone else lights up when they talk about the things they create, watching Tsukshima of all people talk about the things he’s brought to life.

Tsukishima’s every bit as clever and calculating as he used to be, but he’s-- Kuroo’s suddenly reminded of what he told Ibuki. _He’s so much different than he used to be._

“And then what happens?” Kuroo asks, wide-eyed.

“Well, I can’t tell you everything, but--” Tsukishima steals a fry and keeps sharing. 

Kuroo listens with rapt attention, except for when his eyes track the motion of Tsukishima swirling his glass and lifting it to his lips with a graceful ease.

He learns that the story follows a young detective. Though she’s inexperienced, being in the wrong place at the wrong time lands her a case that is far outside of what she was ready for. She works the case while working through her own personal demons. But it’s not all gloom and doom. She has friends, on the force and outside of it. She’s learning how to balance being a detective but still living a normal life outside of it.

Kuroo’s more than satisfied with listening to the way Tsukishima’s voice picks up a lighter tone, a quicker pace when he talks about his writing, but the dam keeps bursting and Kuroo loves every second of it.

“So far, that’s the only story we’ve published, but we have another one, the more important one, that we’ve been holding onto.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it was the story we first thought of when we lived together. It brings in a childhood friend and a bunch of,” he chuckles, “dark, messy shit that we love. I guess we knew this first opportunity wouldn't be the big one. We wanted to save it.”

Tsukishima eats the last fry in the basket. There’s a glassy sheen to his eyes that Kuroo can almost guarantee is reflected in his own, though the food and round of water has helped somewhat. He feels an electric warmth in his skin while he listens to Tsukishima string together more sentences in a row than Kuroo ever remembers hearing from him before.

 _His voice sounds so nice. And his smile is nice. His hair is nice_ \-- Kuroo feels a warmth spreading over his skin and he blames the whiskey. He takes another big gulp of water and then it hits him. He finds the word he’s been searching for all night, the one word that describes how Tsukishima is different now-- _brighter._

Kuroo smiles warmly. “I get that.” He also has notebooks of song lyrics and sheet music that he guards preciously, waiting for the right time. “What’s your writing partner like?”

Tsukishima’s eyebrows shoot up and he sits up in the booth. “Oh, you might actually remember her. Yachi was Karasuno’s manager, the shorter, blonde one.”

“I actually do!” Kuroo claps his hands together at the memory. “Really enthusiastic, but jumpy. I remember her being _jumpy_.”

“She’s still that way,” Tsukishima laughs. He covers his mouth, but his eyes crinkle in the corners in a honest, full-blown laugh.

And Kuroo crumbles. With that sound, all the little things he’s noticed about Tsukishima throughout the night crash together in his brain. He feels his heart pitching forward into an all-out sprint, dashing as hard as it can towards a sudden, intense burst of scenes from an imaginary future where he and Tsukishima are dating and Kuroo can kiss the spot where he pinches his brows together, where he can look over Tsukishima’s shoulder while he writes before he’s shooed away, where Tsukishima comes to all of his shows and gets to know every member of his band family.

 _Oh fuck, I have a crush on Tsukishima_. He’s doomed. Like all the times before, there’s no brakes on this feeling once it begins. He can try to reel it back it, but it will win. For better or for worse.

Kuroo tries to steady his expression into something that doesn’t look like he’s just been struck by a lightning bolt of sappy emotions. “And she’s the illustrator? From what I remember, she seemed too precious for bloody crime scenes.”

“The woman’s got a dark side,” Tsukishima says, and there’s a fondness in his voice that Kuroo adds to the rapidly growing mental list of things he now adores about the blond in front of him.

By some grace of the universe, Tsukishima chooses that moment to excuse himself to go to the restroom. Kuroo swings his whiskey glass back against his lips to force the last few drops into his mouth to steady himself. He loves this rush, loves the way it hits him all at once and makes him feel like his insides are on fire, but he’s failed enough times now that he tries, however uselessly, to tame it.

He puts his head in his hands, slides them up his face until they’re tangled into the dirty mess that is his hair. He stares at the table top until he hears Tsukishima return. He doesn’t sit back down. Kuroo watches his sneakers shift beside the table and he looks back up.

Tsukishima’s mouth is a tight, neat line. “So, it’s nearly 1am and I have to leave if I’m going to catch my last train.”

Kuroo checks his phone, his eyes widen. “Oh shit, you’re right. I forget ‘cause I can walk home from here.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. He rocks on his heels, exhales a long breath and glances at the door.

A rush of panic swells in Kuroo’s chest. _When are we going to see each other next? What if this is a one-time thing? Wasn’t it always a one-time thing? He’s probably not coming back to the shop anytime soon and my music isn’t his taste, he said so._

All the corny lines he uses on other people to be funny and charming don’t feel right. Tsukishima wouldn't find them charming. He’d see right through them. _It’s not like he’s been putting out any flirtatious vibes_ , he thinks, wracking his brain for some reason for them to hang out again.

“Can I text you?” Kuroo blurts, remembering he has Tsukishima’s number.

“Like in general, or--?” That haughty tone will be Kuroo’s undoing. He adds it to his mental _Tsukishima List._

“Just to say hey or whatever. Send you weird memes I find?”

Tsukishima looks down at him, their eyes meeting, and Kuroo recalls seeing that same provoking glare from across a volleyball net. “Don’t see how I could stop you.”

At this point, Kuroo’s sure he couldn’t stop himself either. After he gets home, he’s going to need to talk to his notebook of in-progress lyrics about all this.

 

***

 

That night Kuroo stays up far too late reading issues of Tsukishima’s story. It wasn’t hard to find. He doesn’t use a pen name. It was right there in one the first page of search results, under a few articles about Tsukishima in college. That he didn’t read. Okay, maybe a little. Maybe he skimmed them, stared at the pictures, and then only read the sentences that directly talked about him. And then he got to the story.

It’s good. Like, Kuroo keeps clicking _next chapter_ even as the alarm clock next to his bed reminds him that it’s past 3am and he should be asleep - that kind of good.

The protagonist is truly unlikable at first. She spends the first few pages posturing at the police station, carrying herself like she’s on par with the more seasoned detectives, but it’s all a clever game. She’s already spent years as a petite beat cop, as a woman on the force, and now that she’s made detective it’s her new start.

Then it all goes to shit. She’s out celebrating with friends from her former precinct when the sleepy bar they frequent becomes the site of the first of a string of grisly murders.

Kuroo wants to text Tsukishima his reactions every few pages, to gush over the story building, to compliment Yachi’s attention to detail. But it’s the middle of the night. And even for him that feels obsessive and decidedly _too soon_.

Instead he saves a couple of cat gifs to send in the morning.

He thinks about Tsukishima’s laugh as he falls asleep.

 

***

 

Kuroo wakes up early to rerecord bits of the EP so Glory Days can get it ready for Soga to edit. They’re all getting over the hump in the creation process where they absolutely hate big chunks of everything they make. Now they’re in that most excellent place where the songs start to come together, to actually sound good -- and they hate fewer things.

Riding high on the positive feelings, he sends the cat gifs. All five of them. In a row. _Like a psycho_ , he thinks to himself. _Smooth move, Tetsurou._ He tries very hard to not keep checking his phone for a reply all morning, but fails miserably. There’s no response.

By the time Kuroo makes it to his dad’s house with Kenma in the late afternoon, he’s got his hands wrapped around a huge energy drink to stay awake. 

He’s standing at the kitchen counter slicing pork so it can marinate before his dad grills it. Kenma’s beside him cutting vegetables.

Kuroo takes another long sip from his gigantic source of sugary caffeine and Kenma’s whole face scrunches in mock horror. “I can’t believe you willingly ingest something with a flavor named _Brutal Assault_. I can smell it from here.” Kenma picks up the knife he was slicing eggplant with and points it accusingly. “How much did you sleep last night?”

“Maybe four hours.”

Kenma sighs and goes back to cutting. “We’ve switched places. Does that mean I’m supposed to barge into your house and make sure you’re taking care of yourself?”

“How can you do that when I’ll already be at your place making sure you’ve eaten breakfast?”

“Did you eat breakfast?” Kenma shoots back.

“No,” Kuroo replies quietly.

“You’re the worst.” For a moment there’s only the rhythmic sound of knives hitting wooden cutting boards until, “I posted the video you sent me from today’s recording. People seem to like Tora’s weird shit.”

“I swear he doesn’t really know how to keep a shirt on.”

“Well, it’s working. Your subscriber count is up. Growing steadily for the past month or so.”

“ _Our_ subscriber count,” Kuroo corrects.

Kenma’s quick to retort, “I’m not in the band.”

“Aren’t you, though?” Kuroo gently bumps Kenma with his elbow.

Kenma replies with a dismissive grunt. Though his face is turned towards the counter, from years of friendship Kuroo can imagine the tiny smile at the corner of his mouth right now.

Once everything is prepared, the three of them sit together outside near his dad’s grill, the sizzling serving as the most delicious kind of white noise behind their conversation. It’s hot and humid, and the sun’s only just beginning to set. Kuroo and his dad are steadily working their way through a six-pack of cheap, light beer, and taking turns getting out of their lounge chairs to flip the skewers.

Kuroo’s phone buzzes beside him. He snatches it from the arm of the chair. Across his lockscreen is a blessed announcement: _Tsukishima (2)--_

Immediately, he swipes his thumb along the screen to open his messages. He feels his face stretch into a smile.

 **Tsukishima [19:56]** : Mister’s cuter

Next is a picture of Mister asleep in a bathroom sink with a ragged looking plush carrot tucked against his stomach.

Out of all the replies Kuroo imagined, the real one is far better. 

“--know the rules.”

“What?” Kuroo’s head snaps back up. His dad is talking to him.

“No phones. Come on.” He holds out his hand.

Kuroo laughs, “Are you _confiscating_ my phone? Aren’t I a little old for that?”

“I’ll do it if I need to.”

Kenma snorts beside him.

“Nah, it’s gone. It’s gone.” Kuroo locks the screen and flips it over. _Definitely don’t need to reply right away_ , Kuroo assures himself, but he’s already running scenarios of what he might text, how Tsukishima might reply, and drafting the message he’ll send later. Filled with nervous energy, he gets up to do his turn at the grill.

His dad leans back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Though, I am really curious about who made you smile like that.”

Kenma’s grin turns wicked. “Yea, Kuro. Who is it?” 

_Traitor._

There’s no way he’s talking about any of that tonight. This runaway crush is at its most fragile stage. Share too much and it’s doomed from the start. Kuroo's clever, but he's superstitious with matters of the heart. He throws a piece of red pepper that never made it onto the grill at Kenma’s chair and quickly chucks a second at his dad. “None of your business. Neither of yours. That’s who.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, this chapter saw so, so, SO many different versions before I settled on this one. Things are definitely shifting and I tried my best to get it as close to what I imagined in my brain as I could.
> 
> Honestly, I might just write fic so I can repeatedly imagine krtsk talking over dark liquor in the comforting, home-y bars of my dreams. It's a forever mood.
> 
> Thanks for still reading! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° Hope you enjoyed!
> 
>  
> 
> Music side notes! ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪
> 
> In this fic, and honestly all the time in my head, Tsukishima enjoys listening to electronic, sort of trip hop music in those white head phones. (Though, the internet has informed me that trip hop might be an older label, so whatever it turned into now. Shoegaze? Chillhop? But like, bassier than that.)
> 
> The song "Into Happiness" by Phantogram is something I played on repeat while planning for this fic, so it'd definitely be on a soundtrack. Maybe even parts of it could be in this chapter, as the background to Kuroo's heart exploding. HA.
> 
> And Tsukishima definitely listened to Phantogram's more angsty songs after his last breakup. Like, I know he absolutely had "cruel world" playing on repeat. He does it for the _drama_.


	8. That wasn't a date.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima thinks, alone and with Yamaguchi. And then he thinks some more.

Tsukishima hates catching the last train. The normally pristine train cars have a stench of sweat and desperation lurking in the thick, humid summer air. The fluorescent lights rip away any magic the late hour of the night may have cast upon the creatures now making their way home, himself included.

The show, the bar, their conversation -- it all feels miles away as Tsukishima slouches against the wall, the contented haze of the evening slipping away with every clack of the train on the tracks.

A few stops back, he’d given up his seat to someone who’d definitely had more to drink than him, and now he’s staring at his blank lockscreen, his reflection staring back between all the fingerprints, and thinking. From the moment the anxiety of missing his train left, a fresh new mountain of thoughts to brood over settled in. He feels a headache pulling at his temples and the music in his headphones isn’t helping, but he’s not about to turn it off now.

_Text me when you get home!_

Kuroo’s last words to him that night were something Yamaguchi tells him, something that he tells Yachi when they separate on the platform to get on different lines. It’s not something he’d expect from an acquaintance from ten years ago. _That I somehow spent almost three hours with._

He looks at his reflection in his black screen and pushes up his glasses to wipe a sheen of sweat from the bridge of his nose. _Just how drunk was I?_ Tsukishima pinches that spot on his nose, sighs, and lets his glasses fall back into place. 

He shifts from one foot to the other, checking how steady he feels on his feet. _I can’t have been that drunk. I don’t feel bad._ He adds to his mounting pile of evidence that he walked to the train just fine and that he’s definitely not as bad off as some other passengers. But he does feel just a bit warmer than the weather alone would permit and he has the unsettling feeling of someone gradually becoming less mellow than they were before. Grounded again but untethered from all of reality just yet.

So if dark liquor wasn’t entirely to blame, _how did I just spend three hours with Kuroo?_

Bits of the evening pop into his head, uninvited and in a chaotic order. Flashes of Kuroo leaning forward and asking about his tattoo. Sitting down at the bar and Kuroo paying for his drink. Talking about Mister. Learning about the band. And talking, talking, talking about his story. _I talked for way too long. How -- why? He was just being polite and I -- did I eat some of his fries?_

The evening keeps replaying in small flashes and somewhere between stops, Tsukishima decides that the whole night was bewilderingly _nice_ and that fact has him reeling. 

He’d expected to catch up by talking about high school, the same thing he does when he goes back home and runs into classmates from Karasuno in the grocery store or in a restaurant. He’d been prepared for volleyball, for talking about old teammates, past games and training camps. The whole night he was prepared to share some anecdotes about Hinata and Kageyama from the last time the three of them spoke.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Kuroo talked about _now_. He’d asked Tsukishima about who he was _now_. _For three hours_ , Tsukishima keeps reminding himself.

He nearly misses his stop being announced and has to jump out at the last moment. The sound of cicadas and the wall of humidity smacks him the instant he’s on the platform. It halts his thoughts and forcefully presses him into the moment like a heavy but welcome weight on his shoulders.

Switching his music to something slower in anticipation of hopefully, maybe sleeping tonight, Tsukishima walks the short distance to his apartment. The same sleepy, shuttered shops greet him like they do every late evening. The park across the street from his place is still quiet and dimly lit. But each step on the sidewalk shudders up through him making him feel decidedly too awake and alive and more than a little bit confused.

Once he’s outside his door he types out a quick message to Kuroo. _Home._

He shuts off his screen, leaves the text unsent, opens his front door, and has just enough time to remove his shoes before a sluggish fluffy, grey cat winds his way between his legs.

He doesn’t send the text.

Despite the whiskey and the late hour, sleep doesn’t come easy that night. He keeps trying to tie together the Kuroo he remembers, the Kuroo he saw on stage, and the Kuroo who leaned forward on his arms to ask Tsukishima more questions about his story. 

All while berating himself for thinking about it at all.

Because it’s not like they’re going to hang out again.

 

***

 

Sunday morning, he wakes up and forcibly shoves Saturday into the back of his mind. He makes coffee, catches up on some translating work from the previous week, and gets ready for the publisher meeting once a string of anxious texts from Yachi stirs up potentially reckless optimism in his guts again.

A text from Kuroo breaks his work flow.

Correction - five texts from Kuroo breaks his work flow. They’re gifs of cats. That’s it. No message, just five cats doing silly cat things that make him think of Mister. A smile sneaks out before he can stuff it back in, before he can reasonably process that Kuroo has texted him not even twelve hours after they hung out and there’s absolutely no context, just -- cats.

He flips his phone over so the screen is face-down on the couch beside him and continues working. Or tries to. His mind keeps wandering.

Frustrated, he shuts his laptop and starts a load of laundry. Tsukishima cleans his kitchen, the bathroom, his bedroom. He cleans Mister’s litter box and wonders why the cat insists on staring at him while he does it. _A power move,_ he thinks. Once his mind is clear again, he gets back to work on their current storyline and prepping materials to sell their idea on Tuesday.

By lunch time, he’s ready to take a break and meet up with Yamaguchi for lunch. Even if it’s hard to find times when they’re awake enough to hang out during the week after work, they try to find time to catch up in person on the weekends.

There’s a Italian place near Yamaguchi’s apartment they’ll often go to. Yamaguchi swears Tsukishima is the only person who can go there with him because they have squid ink pasta dish that he loves but, “you’re the only one who can see me with squid ink mouth.”

And that’s the version of his best friend currently sitting across from him, halfway through a plate of his favorite pasta with lips, teeth, and tongue temporarily stained a shade of purple.

They’ve caught up on work and family. Yamaguchi’s father is recovering well from some minor surgery and he sends his continued thanks to the Tsukishimas for all the food they’ve sent over to the house. Tsukishima shares new pictures of his niece, feeling that different kind of pride he’s discovered since Emi joined the family.

He sits on the news about the meet up with the publisher, bur promises himself that if Yamaguchi asks, he’ll tell him. But only if he asks.

“The last chapter was _so_ good.” Yamaguchi grins wide and puts his fork down just long enough to dramatically gesture with his hands. “I didn’t see that coming at all. And that cliffhanger? You’re so cruel.” He slumps back against his chair. “Can you just tell me the next part? Like just a little bit?” Yamaguchi holds up two fingers and peers through the small gap in between.

Tsukishima chuckles, swirling his pasta on his fork. “You have to wait like everyone else.”

“What is even the point of friendship, then?” Yamaguchi laughs. “But seriously, though, with everything that’s happening it feels like you two are ramping up for the end of the current story arc. Are you?”

Tsukishima nods gently. “There’s more to go, but you’re right, not much more. We’re only contracted through thirty chapters, so that makes for eight more.”

“Whoa that feels so soon,” Yamaguchi replies. “What are you going to do after that? Keep it going or--”

Tsukishima has no idea idea why he finds it so hard to talk to Yamaguchi about his plans for his writing. After all, they’ve shared so much over the years. But there’s something about actually talking about his dreams for his writing out loud that makes him feel squirmy and uncomfortable. It’s one thing to talk about the plot lines. That’s simple. It’s exciting in its own way. It’s another thing entirely to be vulnerable about the fact that he’d like it to grow into something more than a hobby.

He takes a moment to swipe a piece of toasted bread in the sauce on his plate and savor the taste before he responds.

“Yachi and I have been seriously talking about not renewing with them. We’re looking at some other options.”

“Oh? That’s a big step,” Yamaguchi smiles. “A good one! I think. Maybe. Yea? It’s a good step?”

Tsukishima watches the way his friend’s face shifts through a series of conflicting emotions before that smile settles on his lips again.

“I hope it is. We’d like to work with someone that doesn’t take quite so much off the top. That way we could maybe--” he falters because the following thought feels foolish in his own head, let alone out loud, “--make something out of it. For real.”

A satisfied grin stretches across Yamaguchi’s face. “You already know how much I’ve wanted you both to do that for years.”

Tsukishima doesn’t reply. He clicks his tongue and shifts his glance towards the windows, but he knows his friend can see right through him. This level of unwavering support will forever make Tsukishima feel uncomfortable, but Yamaguchi would never be anything less than all-in when it comes to supporting his friends. Whether it comes in the form of a hug or an all-out shout to light a fire under his ass, Yamaguchi’s always been in his corner, rooting for him the whole time. He’s believed in Yachi and his work for longer than even the two of them have. He saw the value when it was just sketches and ideas in a frayed notebook.

So he tells him about the meeting on Tuesday, all the while insisting that it’s just a meeting, that there’s no guarantee. Yamaguchi’s excited anyway, his purple-tinted smile bobbing up and down as he nods along enthusiastically while he listens.

“That’s officially enough about that. Now you have to tell me something about your life to make it even,” Tsukishima says.

“Not much to report. Second graders continue to be both adorable angels and horrifying little monsters. It’s hot and I can’t wait for fall so we can stop sweating to death in our barely air conditioned room. You remember what it’s like -- the whole ‘let’s open the windows because that totally cools down the classroom’ nonsense.”

“I would just zone out and try to leave my body,” Tsukishima recalls, thinking back to days spent in different classrooms, suffering through late summer before September brought with it the promise of better weather.

“Well, you can’t zone out when you’re the teacher,” Yamaguchi sighs. “It’s like I’m expected to be a responsible adult or something,” he snickers.

“Who would ever think we’re adults?”

“I know!”

“Either way,” Tsukishima rests on his open palm, elbows on the table, “that’s still not embarrassing enough. I had to talk about my _writing_ , so I need you to offer something just as cringey.”

“Your writing isn’t cringey.”

“It is when I have to make words about gross stuff like _hopes and dreams_ with my mouth. Out loud. In front of someone.”

“Fine. Let’s see,” Yamaguchi starts, but it’s clear from the look on his face he’s already thinking of something. “Internet dating is weird. Like you might get someone who can hold a halfway decent conversation or you might get someone who pulls out a homemade finger puppet from a fanny pack while you’re still on your first drink.”

Tsukishima grimaces. “That’s too specific not to have happened.”

“He looked normal in his pictures! Obviously, no second date.”

Yamaguchi runs through a couple of the latest dating disasters. Tsukishima listens hard for any hints that his friend is hiding some less lighthearted feelings below the surface, but Yamaguchi genuinely seems fine with the whole situation.

And truly, he’s happy for his friend, but Tsukishima’s still skeptical, if only because there’s an ugly part of his brain that keeps thinking, _how is he so much more… fine than I am?_

"I'm glad you're having a good time," he says, pushing the other thoughts from his mind. "You deserve some fun."

Yamaguchi pauses his recollection of weird dates to smile warmly, the freckles on his cheeks stretching up towards the happy look in his eyes. "Thanks, Tsukki. It's been a weird year, hasn't it?"

They’ve both been recovering from nasty breakups at their own pace, but for so long, Tsukishima felt like they were in it together. They’d sit around watching movies and stay over at each other’s apartments, offering late night promises to never date again that they knew they’d never keep… eventually. Eventually just came sooner for his best friend.

If he’s honest with himself, Tsukishima’s not even sure why he’s been taking so long. Unlike Yamaguchi, his breakup was ultimately his choice, though at the time Tsukishima was confident he had no other options. Long-distance was never going to work out, not when they already had deeply rooted communication problems in the first place. Over a year has passed, but the decision still sits in guts, like he’s unable to convince himself it was the right thing to do, like he’s sure that in the narrative of that relationship, he’s the bad guy.

The table grows quiet and Tsukishima realizes he’s been stuck inside his head long enough for his friend to notice. He’s on the receiving end of a intense stare.

Yamaguchi raises an eyebrow and those freckles quirk up into a grin, “what are you overthinking right now?”

“Just how much dating is a horrible nightmare,” he deflects.

“So it didn’t go well with Kuroo-san last night?” Yamaguchi asks casually, swiping a piece of bread through the last remnants of the sauce on his plate.

“That wasn’t a date,” Tsukishima shoots back, caught off-guard. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his friend’s face. Tsukishima sighs, “honestly, I swear it wasn’t.”

"Did he pay for you?"

"Just the first drink."

“Let’s say, for a moment, that I believe you,” Yamaguchi looks pleased with himself as Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “How’d it go? What’s he like now?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Not much to say. He’s the same, I guess.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

Yamaguchi isn’t going to let this go. People always thought Tsukishima was the stubborn one. They didn’t realize that, especially when it came to their friendship, Yamaguchi was just as bad in the best kind of way.

“He’s still loud. Hair is still terrible.”

Yamaguchi playfully waves a dismissive hand. “I already knew that from the tattoo run-in. I need more. You went to _his show_.”

“And?”

“And I know that’s not it because there was a huge gap of time between your replies to my messages. you’re terrible at texting, I’ve accepted that fact, but you always get back to me before bed and _apparently_ before bed was at just past 2am yesterday.”

“I stay up late. You know that.”

Yamaguchi pinches his lips together and gives a knowing glare. It’d be annoying if it weren’t Yamaguchi and his somehow still adorable freckles and that one stubborn tuft of hair weren’t on display. _I’ve already lost, haven’t I?”_

“So, how was his band, then?”

“They’re good. Not my taste, but they have talent. Good for days when you need to scream.”

“What does he play?”

“Guitar,” Tsukishima answers quickly, acutely aware of the scheming look on his friend’s face.

“Was he good?”

“He was fine. Actually the drummer is--”

“Like _fine_ fine?” Yamaguchi makes himself laugh.

“No.”

“Sure, alright.” Yamaguchi replies and the conversation briefly grows quiet, spare the noise of the restaurant around them and Yamaguchi lazily swirling his fork in the last of his pasta.

Looking at his friend, a smile tugs at Tsukishima’s lips. He puffs out a soft laugh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not. I’m prepared to stay here all night. They’ve got tiramisu and my body is ready to eat as much of that as I need to keep me going until you spill some details.”

Tsukishima lets out an exasperated sigh but there’s no venom, no bite to it. Like hundreds of times before, he’s resigned to his fate. There’s only one human who knows all of his business and he’s sitting across the table with purple lips and a knowing grin.

Yamaguchi points his fork across the table. “I only push because you’re clearly processing something and I’m here to help. That and,” he chuckles softly, “I really want to know what is. It feels like it’s going to be _good_.”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint. Not much to share. I watched the show from a spot against the wall. We went to a bar to catch up, _quickly_ catch up later.” Tsukishima tries and fails to push away the vivid memory of Kuroo on stage. He thinks about the unanswered texts on his phone.

“What’d you talk about?”

“The band,” he shrugs then adds a little more softly, “and the story. It came up towards the end.” Bits of the conversation pop into his head, fuzzy memories of Kuroo leaning in, interested and asking questions. Tsukishima shifts in his chair.

He expects the playful teasing to continue, but instead a warm smile falls into place across his friend’s face. “Well that sounds like a nice evening.”

Tsukishima shrugs again and knows that he’s shrugged too many times by now, that Yamaguchi is counting them and somehow piecing together what’s in his mind. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Oh? Not bad? That’s high praise from Tsukki. So, you going to see him again? For another _not date_?”

“Probably not.” Saying it out loud sounds far harsher than he intends. Harsher than he actually feels. There’s a tiny knot growing in his stomach that has nothing to do with the amount of pasta he just ate. _The cat texts. What am I going to do with those stupid cat gifs?_

“No way, see - it’s all over your face. What’d you just think about?”

Tsukishima leans back hard in his chair. “He texted me this morning.”

Yamaguchi’s smile grows. “And what’d you say back?”

Tsukishima twists his face into a scowl. “Nothing. Why would I?”

A hand flies out. “Tsukishima Kei. Hand me your phone right now. We’re going to reply.”

“Since when are you a part of this?”

Yamaguchi laughs. “Since I caught that blush creeping up your neck when you talked about the show.”

Tsukshima instinctively clasps a hand to his neck and curses his pale skin.

 

***

 

 **[19:56]:** Mister’s cuter

He attaches a recent photo of Mister from his camera roll that is, honestly, mostly just pictures of Mister. In it, the cat’s curled up in the sink with his carrot resting on the soft white fur of his belly. 

He never would have sent it all if Yamaguchi hadn’t insisted. _I would have sent something. Eventually,_ he reasons, but he’s not certain. He doesn’t like to think about the side of him that would have left those texts read and unreplied to for another decade.

After dinner he actually manages to push it from his mind while he prepares for the start of the week - finishing laundry, taking stock of what groceries he should have bought over the weekend but didn’t - until his phone vibrates on the counter.

 **Kuroo [21:18]:** Accurate. Oh my god, he’s so fluffy.  
**Kuroo [21:18]:** I wish I had a cat.

Tsukishima’s thumbs hover over the keyboard while he stares at the messages. _What am I supposed to say back?_

 **[21:20]:** You could… get one?

 **Kuroo [21:20]:** I wish, but pets aren’t allowed at my place.

Tsukishima blinks his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. When he looks back down the text is still there and he has even less of an idea of how to keep this going. _Do I even want to? He’s obviously looking at his phone right now and he knows I’m here with mine. I guess it’d be rude not to._ He groans in his quiet kitchen.

 **[21:21]:** That sucks.

He hits send and immediately regrets how stupid it sounds.

 **Kuroo [21:21]:** It does, but at least I can visit cats. And I have a cat cafe near my apartment soooooo--  
**Kuroo [21:21]:** not that I make it there much. Too busy with the band and work at the shop.  
**Kuroo [21:22]:** speaking of which, the tattoo looked good. Iwaguchi would definitely take photos for his portfolio if you stopped by again. No pressure, of course. He just mentioned it yesterday.

Tsukishima stares at the words. His brows pinch together. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He remembers the look on Yamaguchi’s face when he announced that Tsukishima had _blushed_ \-- of all the possible horrible things -- when he thought about the show.

 **[21:24]:** I’ll see if it fits into my schedule.

 **Kuroo [21:24]:** Great - and again, no pressure. I have appointments every afternoon this week except for Wednesday. And Iwaguchi’s usually booked most days, so he’s here.

 _What is the appropriate way to end this conversation?_ Tsukishima wracks his brain for ideas. With family, with good friends, he’ll say good night or something like it out of habit. With work texts, he’ll just stop texting. Neither feel right for this situation and he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t texting someone that didn’t fit into one of those two categories.

 **[21:27]:** Alright, well, I’m going to finish getting ready for the week.  
**[21:27]:** Hope you had a good Sunday.

He adds the second text in a brief moment of reflection, worrying that maybe he sounded too unjustifiably short and rude, but the words stare back at him, taunting him with how stale and dumb they sound.

 **Kuroo [21:28]** : I did, thanks. Hung out with my dad and Kenma - you remember Kenma? Our setter - a year above you? Anyway, have a good one.

Flashes of Kenma glaring at him in the bar run through his mind. That makes him remember the show again, how Kuroo looked on stage, and he rushes to send his final message.

 **[21:28]:** Thanks. You, too.

Tsukishima heads towards his living room, chucking his phone on the couch cushions before he sits down. He slumps against the comforting lumps of his old couch and runs his fingers roughly up and down the short hairs along the sides and back of his head, _thinking_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima on the outside: (￢_￢)  
> Tsukishima dealing with feelings on the inside:  
> (-_-;)・・・
> 
> There were originally one, maybe two, more scenes in this chapter, but they're going to be pushed to the next one. I tried to cut down the Feelings Lunch with Yams, but then I decided I didn't want to. This is fandom land. We can have overly long conversations if that's what we want! Wee! 
> 
> (And it just means I've added, like, at least one or two chapters to the final total. This is why I never say ahead of time how many chapters a longer fic will be. I have *no idea.* The outline is like a road map that flies out of the window halfway through the trip.)
> 
> I like imagining how their friendship would grow as they both aged. I think Yamaguchi would find more confidence in time, that he'd still maintain that adorable earnest nature but he'd be able to assert his ideas a little more. And I think Yamaguchi would help make Tsukishima a little softer around the edges through the years as he matured. They're just so stinkin' cute.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you next time! (≧◡≦)


	9. It's like Ch8 part 2...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima meets with the publisher and has a night in with the artsy crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus Tsukki chapter! Out of POV order! Because I realized something needed to happen before some other things for reasons that really only matter to me and would have been really small and unimportant but I CARE A LOT, so here we are. 
> 
> Tsukishima gets another mini-chapter. He’s probably happy about that. He seems like he’d like to hold that over Kuroo’s head.

_Tsukishima_

The meeting with the publisher does not go well.

In a matter of minutes it’s obvious that the group the woman represents is even more predatory than their current arrangement, bent on sucking the life out of creators to grow their bottom line. The woman’s fine enough company, and Tsukishima enjoys the free meal, but the disappointment hits him like a punch in the stomach once he sees Yachi’s face crumble as soon as they leave the restaurant.

She insists she’s fine, but she’s quiet beside him on their walk back to the station.

“Do you really have to go back to work?” He asks.

“Yea,” she nods softly.

Tsukishima watches her blonde hair fall forward as he gaze drops to the sidewalk. Her bag slips off her shoulder and hangs on her elbow.

He shuffles along beside her, shortening his steps like he often does when they walk together so she doesn’t have to speedwalk to match his gait. “How about instead of working at the studio tonight, you come over? Mister misses you.” He hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s pitying her. Yachi hates that.

“Sure,” she replies, still watching her shoes on the sidewalk, “want me to pick up dinner?”

“Nah, we can order something once you get there.”

As they shuffle along together, Tsukishima pinches his lips together in thought, forming a plan that he knows he’ll like in the end but he’ll absolutely hate at first.

Once they’ve separated and Tsukishima’s on the platform for his train line, he texts Yamaguchi just to make sure he’s not reading everything about the situation incorrectly.

 **Tadashi [13:11]:** Ohhh, don’t worry! That’s an excellent idea. Really sweet, in fact.

 **[13:11]:** It’s not that big of a deal.

 **Tadashi [13:12]:** I know, but it’s thoughtful. You’re losing your edge, Tsukki. HA. I’m gonna have to tell everyone about all those times you showed up with armfulls of food and movies when I was at my most pitiful.

 **[13:12]** : Please don’t.

 **Tadashi [13:12]:** if you keep doing this, I won’t need to. Everyone will know how sweet you are.

 **[13:13]:** I’m turning my phone off.

Moving to pocket his phone, another notification catches his eye. _Kuroo (1)._ He doesn’t even have time to open it before his phone vibrates in his hand again.

 **Kuroo [13:14]:** I just almost choked on my burrito.  
**Kuroo [13:14]:** I hope your day is going better.

 _It isn’t_ , but he chuckles when the image of Kuroo still being the idiot he remembers pops into his mind’s eye.

For the past couple of days, Kuroo’s messaged him throughout the day with a random passing thought or something from his day. It’s getting easier to reply. When all of the messages are so trivial there’s, apparently, nothing to overthink.

 **[13:14]:** Comparatively, yes, because I managed to eat my lunch with tasting death. You should learn to chew.

 **Kuroo [13:15]:** Solid advice. I’ll try to remember that next time.

Then he sends a gif of someone rolling their eyes as hard as they can.

Tsukishima laughs out loud, short and abrupt, and it makes the man standing next to him glance over. He softly clicks his tongue at being noticed and types out a fast reply.

 **[13:15]** : Here to help.

 

***

 

Tsukishima scrunches up his nose and pulls his mouth into a tight grimace when yet another glass is placed on his coffee table without a coaster. Despite the fact that there’s more than enough stacked in the middle. Despite the fact that he’s quietly placed every stray glass on top of a coaster for the past half hour as they wait for Yachi to arrive. Despite the fact that everyone here has known Tsukishima for a year or more and they know how particular he can be.

Across the table, he catches the eye of younger illustrator and author named Kawase who reminded him of Kiyoko when they first met and she grins sympathetically. She sets her own beer down on a coaster, then she shrugs as if to say, _what can you do?_

 _Creative types_ , he groans inwardly, ignoring the fact that he looks like, lives like, and keeps the same strange sleep schedules as the people around him.

When Yachi texts that’s she close and needs to be let into the building, Tsukishima leaves their friend group in his apartment to give Mister more attention then he probably deserves.

In the dim, old-smelling lobby of his building, his first thought is that Yachi looks as though she’s been up all night despite the fact that only a few hours have passed. His next thought is that perhaps he miscalculated and a room full of people is not what Yachi needs right now.

The whole way up he asks about the rest of her day while his inner monologue berates himself for not being able to read people right, to now know exactly what they need. Right outside his door Yachi gives him a questioning look, no doubt hearing the voices inside. He stands still and stiff, hands by his side as he cracks a small, unsure smile. _Ugh, I tried,_ he thinks as he unlocks the door.

But the moment she catches sight of the people inside, her whole demeanor shifts. Yachi’s tired, worried eyes open wide and her mouth drops open in surprise until her lips come together to form a smile that stretches across her face. In a flash, her shoes are off and she’s sliding her way into the living room to give short little side-hugs and catch up on the current conversation.

Tsukishima’s slow to follow, taking his time with his own shoes and bending down to pet Mister when he pulls himself away from the group to show a little bit of loyalty. When he looks back up, Yachi’s eyes are on him. Her mouth silently forms the words “thank you” before she turns back to the group, finding a comfortable spot on the floor with their eclectic group around her.

 

***

 

It takes some pizza and a few more beers before either of them want to divulge why there was a need for a midweek pick-me-up. But once Yachi and Tsukishima share about the meeting, the rest of the group has more than enough experiences to commiserate and Tsukishima sees other sides of the people he’s come to admire.

Everyone around his living room has had setbacks that they’ve crawled, or are still crawling, their way through.

There’s Takahashi, the guy that’s always teasing him for looking like a “cool guy,” but whose illustrative talent grabbed Tsukishima’s attention from the start. He talks about deals gone sour, days when he’s thought about getting legal counsel to get what he was promised, what he was owed from companies, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the time and extra cost.

Even Kawase, who has a handful graphic novels bearing her pen name on shelves has more than enough failures to recount. She started young and signed contracts that seemed like a great opportunity at the time but turned out to be anything but.

“Things really changed when I found the agent I’m with now.”

“An agent?” Yachi’s head spins towards Tsukishima from the comfy spot she’s made for herself on the floor, a blanket tucked around her legs. Her eyes grow big and her eyebrows tilt in a silent question.

He stares back, trying not to notice that the conversation has stilled and the eyes around the room are glued on him now.

“Should we…” She starts.

 _An agent,_ his mind reels. There’s a gigantic chasm between what they’ve been doing and what something like an agent will mean. It’s not just putting together their best work and submitting it for open calls, hoping for the best. It’s not just the two of them believing in their work. It’s having the audacity to think someone else might believe in it enough to fight for it, too. And honestly, that doesn’t seem possible.

But he nods. _It’s what I want, isn’t it? It’s what we’ve been working towards all this time… right? Instead of shouting into the void with our work, we could make a go of it for real, with purpose._

Frightening purpose.

Her eyes open wider and she sits up on her knees, the blanket thrown from her lap. “You mean it? Tsukishima, do you want to try to find an agent for our book?”

He’s acutely aware of everyone’s attention now, even more than before and chews on his upper lip before he answers with a simple, “Yea. Yea, why not?”

Failure seems inevitable, but his life is now filled with too many examples of times when he attempted to shut off that fear and try, really try, for him to not want to try again.

Especially when Yachi is barrelling towards him, a grin across her face. He feels his back slam into the his couch as she clumsily throws her arms around him. He’s pushed into Takahashi beside him, and the man laughs hard at the sight. Yachi’s face is buried in his chest, stray stands of her hair tickling his nose and he awkwardly hugs her back in the strange position in which they find themselves.

 

***

 

Kuroo texts him again while he’s getting ready for bed. He sees the initial notification but ignores it as he brushes his teeth, wipes the day from his face, and puts away all of Mister’s toys, knowing they’ll be scattered around the house come morning. All the while, he hears the sound of his phone vibrating on his coffee table.

He finally reads the first few messages and feels a heat rising quickly from his chest, up his neck, and to his cheeks.

 **Kuroo [12:57]:** In the past few days I have read EVERY SINGLE ISSUE of your story and Tsukki--  
**Kuroo [12:57]:** TSUKIIIIIIIIIIIII  
**Kuroo [12:57]:** it’s incredible, really. I only put it down when I had to do other things like, you know, work and eat. But oh my god  
**Kuroo [12:58]:** it’s so good. So the art is awesome. It’s like… simple but the simplicity makes your eyes drawn to the little details that make every scene stand out  
**Kuroo [12:58]:** and your writing? Holy shit - I’ve missed more sleep than usual lately because I kept clicking READ NEXT CHAPTER instead of going to bed  
**Kuroo [12:59]:** And maybe you’ve already gone to bed, so I hope this doesn’t wake you up or anything, or you know, that it’s weird to wake up to, but I just caught up and that cliffhanger had me dying to see what’s next  
**Kuroo [1:00]:** So I just wanted to tell you that.

By the time he’s reached the final message, he’s surprised to find that his heart is beating faster. He chalks it up to embarrassment. It is, naturally, mortifying to be on the receiving end of so many compliments at once.

But in light of the day he’s had, that he and Yachi have had, it feels good. His chest swells with a pride that he suddenly realizes he hasn’t felt in weeks, maybe months. They’d been moving forward with the current story line like clockwork while trying to get someone to notice them elsewhere. And somewhere along the line he’d stopped remembering how lucky he was to have this chance to work with Yachi, to create something real from all the ideas swirling in his head.

His fingers trace along the new ink on his arm. He smiles, small and to himself.

He decides to let Kuroo think he’s asleep and not reply. _Yet_ , he tells himself, _I’ll reply in the morning._

That night as he falls asleep, his mind drifts back to a hot summer in Tokyo filled with the smell of sweat, the frustration of constant defeat, and the sounds of volleyballs smacking the floor with Kuroo’s wild cackle in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the, uh, continuation of the previous chapter. I was writing Kuroo's next chapter and couldn't figure out why I couldn't get some scenes to feel right and I ultimately decided it was because this needed to happen first. For reasons. That maybe only matter to me. But who knows? All I know is the next chapter is coming along more smoothly now and that's a definite thumbs up because there are THINGS that are going to HAPPEN soonish.
> 
> I do miss the days of summer break, of being able to write all day. But alas, school is back in session and I've got to teach English to a bunch of unruly but adorable young children and it makes me tired, ever so tired.
> 
> Thank you for still reading!(⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃


	10. Maybe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of texting, Kuroo talks with good friends, and Kuroo gets charmingly flustered (and maybe Tsukishima does, too).

Somehow, Kuroo manages to peel his eyes open and make one foot go in front of the other long enough to fumble into his kitchen to grind coffee. He pours a bit too much from the bag and beans spill onto the floor. He stares at them, sighs, then kicks them under the cabinet to sweep up later. Much later. For now they’ll live next to all the other bits of food he’s dropped and kicked aside.

The scent of freshly ground coffee raises his spirits but he’s still dragging behind the weight of a nearly sleepless night. His last appointment ran late at the shop. Then he made the ridiculous choice to go work out before rehearsal, like he had energy to spare. By the time he finally crawled home he was exhausted so, naturally, inspiration struck as he tried to fall asleep and he ended up bent over a notebook, tapping out beats, sketching out lyrics with accompanying rhythms.

At least there will be time for a nap in between the studio this morning and his first appointment this afternoon. Hopefully. If everything goes okay. He doesn’t even technically need to be in the studio this morning, it’s all vocal work with Alisa, but he wouldn't feel right if he wasn’t there, too.

The button pops on his kettle and he pours the hot water over the ground coffee. It smells like morning, but his bed, mere feet away from him, calls with a powerful song.

On the counter beside him, his lock screen lights up with an incoming message. _Tsukishima (1)._

Alone in his kitchen, he smiles, feeling a bit more awake.

 **Tsukishima [08:03]:** There’s cat hair in my mug. This is my life.

An image slowly loads over his terrible wifi, and then he sees a simple white mug with, indeed, grey cat hair stuck to the sides. From the angle, he can see the tips of Tsukishima’s feet, wrapped in - _god, he’s trying to kill me_ \- fluffy, blue and white striped socks.

He lines up his phone to take a shot of his current coffee situation when another message interrupts him.

 **Tsukishima [8:04]:** And -- thanks for your messages last night.  
**Tsukishima [8:04]:** I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it so far.

Kuroo pinches his brows together before he remembers. _Oh yea, I got home and sent him, like, eighty texts after that last chapter._ He scrolls up, realizes it was far fewer than eighty and relaxes.

He stares at the thanks, the I’m glad, then closes his eyes and lets reckless optimism wash over him. He imagines Tsukishima in his own kitchen, maybe in soft pajama pants that match those fluffy socks, and maybe he’s smiling while he sent those two messages. Maybe he really is glad.

A burst of energy washes over him and Kuroo pours his coffee with too much enthusiasm and it sloshes over the sides of his mug. He looks at the small mess and decides later-him can deal with it. Current-him is going to look at those text messages and dream about mornings where he makes two cups of a coffee and has someone to share it with.

 

***

 

“What’cha reading?” Alisa’s voice sing-songs over Kuroo’s shoulder. He jumps a little, startled. He figured she’d be in the booth a bit longer.

He’d just finished replying to a couple of emails, checking out a video Kenma planned to post later, and was going back to reread the previous few chapters of Tsukishima’s story to see if his hunch about the next chapter could really be true.

“Working my way through a series.” He thumbs past a few scenes then drops his phone beside him on the stiff couch in the studio waiting room.

She swings around to the front and plops down next to him, leaning in to his space and checking out what’s on the screen. Stray strands of her hair tickle his cheek. “Fiction? Been a while since I’ve seen you pick up something that’s not about the music industry or is brandishing an impossible title like _A Quick History of Humans._ ”

Her shoulder playfully bumps into him and he pushes back with a grin. “I’ll have you know that book was _Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind_ ,” he corrects, “but you know, I have to take a break from being brilliant every now and then. Fiction’s good for that.”

“You? Take a break? When’s the last time you actually did that? Like, for more than one evening?” She turns her head and Kuroo shifts so he can look back, defiant, his face close to her bubbly smile and bits of her ponytail refusing to be pulled back.

“I rest!” He pouts. “I go to dinner at my dad’s and I don’t even fall asleep at rehearsal anymore.”

“Anymore,” she repeats, raising an eyebrow, but she lets it go. “So, what made you pick this up?” She scoops up Kuroo’s phone from the couch and scans the screen, fingers scrolling up and down.

His tone turns coy. “A guy I’m talking to wrote it.”

“Oh?” Her smile grows and there’s a curious sparkle in her eyes. “Tell me about him.”

“You know I won’t.”

“A stupid rule,” she shoots back. “Half the time we don’t even know about who you’re seeing until it’s already over.”

“That’s by design.”

“Kenma probably knows!”

“That’s because he’s--”

“I know, I know,” she waves her hand dismissively. “Still, I want to be nosy. Indulge me for once.”

“Nope, can’t jinx it. I’ve got enough bad luck as it is.”

Her face softens. “That’s not true.”

Kuroo raises a challenging eyebrow. The past year is littered with breakups and Alisa knows that. Most of them were inevitable. They began as something fun, born out of wanting to know someone a bit better. But even when he wasn’t that invested, the end still stung.

And so began The Rule - no discussing potential partners in detail until it’s safe to do so. If it slips it out, fine, but Kuroo’s being more careful about the details he tells anyone - well, besides Kenma.

And maybe also Bokuto. And Akaashi. But that would be different. _I should call them tonight._

“Fine,” she sighs. “What _can_ you tell me about him?”

Kuroo fills her in on a few vague details, careful to leave out anything that could connect to the night Tsukishima came to their show. Alisa’s smart. She’d figure it out. He says they’ve gone out only once - as friends. She seems most interested in the fact that his “mysterious” interest is a writer and thinks that might make the two of them a good match.

Kuroo likes hearing that, even if he knows it’s a baseless opinion from a close friend who knows nothing about the situation.

“You’re moving pretty slowly with this one. Usually you’re--” Alisa makes a quick motion with her hands, both of them surging forwards, “off like a rocket.”

“Usually I have more to work with. I flirt, they flirt back, we go out -- Honestly, I don’t even know if he likes me like that. Like at all, Alisa.”

“But you’re still stuck on him?”

He thinks back to the way Tsukishima looked at the bar, rosy cheeked and talking about his work. Kuroo feels a smile forming. “Yea,” he replies softly.

“Well, I hope it works out.” She gives him another push with her shoulder before stretching her arms and standing back up, holding out her hand to help Kuroo up. “Let’s get you home. I order you to take a nap. You look like hell.”

He takes her offered hand but pushes himself up. Once he’s standing, he runs a hand through her hair, gently messing up the already messy ponytail. “I look amazing, thank you very much.”

“You look exhausted,” she replies, flattening strands of silvery blonde hair. They turn and fall in step together on their way back out of the studio. “Really, though, it worries me.” She adds quietly just before they step outside.

Kuroo looks down, a sideways grin on his face. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“And you don’t have to do so much by yourself.” She looks up and locks eyes with him, her demeanor and tone determined to be heard. “We don’t hear about so much of what you’re doing for the band until you’ve already done them. Let us be there for you, too.”

In that moment, he sees more than just Alisa in front of him. He sees all the caring faces in his life who’ve told him the same thing time and time again. As a captain of a team, as a kid whose dad needed him to be more responsible and independent than other kids -- _I’m used to running things on my own._ But he already knows the folly of that thought, even if the habit is still hard to break.

“Alright, alright. I’ll do better.”

She rolls her eyes gently, a small laugh escapes her lips, like she knows it’s not quite a promise. Kuroo replies with a bashful smile. She’s not wrong.

Alisa pushes on the door leading outside slowly, her face lost in thought. As the sunlight from the morning sun pours in, she turns with one final thought. “I know we all have our own busy schedules and lives, but we want this to work as much as you do. We’re all doing out parts, but we should do more together. All of us.”

 

***

 

 **[19:34]:** Ok you hate all my music recommendations - what DO you like???

 **Tsukishima [19:42]:** I don’t hate them. They’re just not my thing. I like it when the voices are another instrument, where everything flows together seamlessly.

 **[19:47]:** Like this? [youtu.be/LHGYSAH] LIVE STREAM OCT 2017

 **Tsukishima [20:01]:** Alright, that wasn’t terrible. But here’s something better.  
**Tsukishima [20:02]:** [youtu.be/HUYASH] PV - MELODY

 **[20:06]:** I can dig it. Buuuut I see that and raise you this --

 

***

 

“So, not this weekend, but the next one?” Kuroo yawns and Bokuto catches it on the other side of the video chat. He’s just finished eating a very late dinner and he already slumped against the side of his couch, upright still but only just.

Bokuto looks tired, too, but Akaashi’s eyes are wide and wired, a still steaming cup of coffee in his hands and a plan to study for most of the night in his future.

At the tail end of his yawn, Bokuto replies, “Yep, we’re coming in for my sister’s birthday but we’ll have plenty of time to hang out.”

“You wanna come to a show? We’re playing that Friday at that little venue that Akaashi says smells weird.”

“It does,” Akaashi interjects. “You can’t tell me that place doesn’t constantly reek of corn chips. It’s such a specific smell.”

Beside him, Bokuto laughs. “We’ll be there, of course. And hang out after?”

“You know it. Gotta burn off all that post-show energy somehow.”

“Anything else new?” Akaashi asks as Bokuto yawns again and leans on his shoulder and Akaashi starts absentmindedly running his fingers through Bokuto’s slowly deflating locks of hair.

The sight makes Kuroo feel all gooey and sentimental. He’d continue to put up with his friends’ endless PDA if it meant having them nearby again. Being Akaashi’s roomate in college hadn’t always been the best. For those few years, Kuroo alternated between watching Akaashi mope because he missed Bokuto and having them loudly reconnect every other weekend just a wall away. But he did get to keep two of his best friends close.

And living with both of them after Kuroo and Bokuto graduated until the two of them made their way down to Kyoto permanently had been just about perfect, disgusting PDA and all.

Now the visits were few and far between, their lives busy and taking off in different directions -- _it’ll be nice to see them soon._

“Nothing really.” Kuroo stretches his legs and then spawls out on his couch, giving up on even trying to sit up anymore. “Been recording with Glory Days, picking up clients at the shop--”

“Nothing with Late to the Party?” Bokuto asks. “Daishou too busy with married life?”

Kuroo laughs, “Something like that. We’ve been in touch about band stuff, but in between moving with Mika and everything else - plus you know how he is.”

“An asshole.” Akaashi adds with a grin.

“Yeah, but like, a fun asshole.” Kuroo grins back. “And honestly, I’ve been too busy trying to get this new EP out that if it’s music, it’s all been Glory Days for months now. The other band is for fun, this one is--”

“Gonna happen, man.” Bokuto sits up and points at the video camera. “Y’all are gonna be huge.”

Even with the distance between them, he swears he can feel the hearty, encouraging slap on the back he’d be getting if Bokuto was in the room with him now. “Thanks, Bo.”

Eventually, the conversation rolls back towards plans for when they visit - their tentative travel schedule, the times they can possibly grab food together, which bar they should go to after the show. Kuroo sleepily follows along until a notification crosses the top of the video call. He feels his cheeks stretch into a smile.

 **Tsukishima [23:21]:** Did you say you were in more than one band?

The question catches him off-guard. He’s still following along with Bokuto and Akaashi, but he minimizes the video and opens his text messages.

He thinks back and can’t quite remember if he told Tsukishima he was in two bands or not.

 **[23:21]:** Yea, but Glory Days is my focus.

He types _why?_ but erases it and presses send.

 _Where did that come from?_ He thinks back to the night after the bar when he went home and searched for Tsukishima’s comic and read everything else about him he could find first. Oh, did he --

“Kuroo - yo, Kuroo! What gives, bro? You asleep already?” Bokuto’s voice breaks his train of thought.

“No way, look at his face,” Akaashi smirks, “something good just happened. What could possibly pull you away from riveting conversation with us besides a new lover?” He winks dramatically and Bokuto stifles a laugh beside him.

“You know I hate that word,” Kuroo groans.

“That’s why I used it. Anyone we know?” There’s a teasing tone in Akaashi’s voice.

“You ask that like you already know the answer,” Kuroo replies.

Recognition dawns on Bokuto’s face. “Is it--” He glances between Akaashi and Kuroo, “--are you two talking about Tsukishima?” His face comes right up to the camera lens. “Kuroo, man, is it Tsukishima?”

Kuroo turns his face so it melts into the arm of his couch, his cheek pressing into his nose and mouth and distorting his voice. “Yes - but nothing’s going to happen probably.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Akaashi’s voice is suddenly a lot softer.

Bokuto, on the other hand, turns up the intensity. His face now takes up the entirety of the video screen. “Kuroo, are you listening? You never, bro, you never know. Nothing’s impossible.”

For the second time that night he finds himself saying, “Thanks, Bo.”

 

***

 

Kuroo startles awake on his couch. His neck is horrendously stiff from the weird position he fell asleep in and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that his phone is about to vibrate off of the coffee table. Angrily, he scoops it off, ready to tell-off whoever is texting him this late.

It’s the band group chat.

He scrolls past a flurry of messages, worry starting to build in his chest, until his eyes catch on a message from Tora in all-caps--

 **Tora [1:43]:** KUROO YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE NOT LISTENING YET  
**Tora [1:43]:** GET UP GET UP GET UP YOU OLD MAN AND GO TO 95.7  
**Tora [1:43]:** WE’RE ON THE FUCKING RADIO

It takes a moment for his sleep-ridden brain to make sense of the words, but then he springs into action. _Radio, radio, how can I listen to the radio without being in a car? How do people_ \-- he slaps open his laptop and hammers on the keys until he’s at the website for the radio station Tora mentioned. A live stream. He clicks it in time to hear the last thirty seconds of one of their songs.

 _Restart_ , a song from their first EP that they released last year. One of the band’s favorites. And it’s on the fucking radio.

_We’re on the fucking radio._

True, it’s the middle of the night, and at this end of the radio dial, it’s all less popular stations and news, but someone heard them and decided that it deserved some airtime.

Long after their song is done and the next band is playing, Kuroo sits, staring at his laptop, eyes wide with emotion. His jaw is clenched, holding back the release he feels building in his chest. He sniffs, a jagged breath shakes through him, then he swallows hard right before the dam bursts.

It’s nothing like a show, like people paying money to listen to them. And it’s just some late-night DJ, but it’s another first, and he stores it in his heart along with the others as a steady stream of happy tears roll down his face.

He swipes them away and picks up his phone. He has to scroll past more of Tora’s all-caps messages before he replies.

 **[1:47]:** Well, that was... holy shit. How -- why did this totally excellent thing happen?

 **Tora [1:47]:** CAN’T YOU READ? I ALREADY SAID

 **Oyori [1:47]:** Turn. Off. The. All. Caps. Now. Please.

 **Tora [1:48]:** WHATEVER. When I’m not at that shitty restaurant for work, I’ve been following up at all the stations we sent tracks to and, I guess they liked us

 **Soga [1:48]:** the DJ introduced us by saying he’d been to a show

 **Alisa [1:48]:** I just tagged them in a tweet thanking theeeeem

 **Oyori [1:48]:** ugh, that’s kind of dorky

The conversation goes faster than Kuroo can respond. He’s still stuck on the fact that Tora did all that. Kuroo always meant to get around to it, but--

_We’re all doing out parts, but we should do more together. All of us._

Alisa’s words from the morning hit him hard. They carry more weight now. He starts to feel the ragged breathing again and he blames his emotional state on being exhausted. He skims the messages he’s missed and he laughs, watery but full of joy.

 **[1:50]:** You’re all idiots. And I love you. Let’s keep this momentum going.  
**[1:50]:** Tomorrow. Right now I’m going back to bed.

 

***

 

Kuroo’s still buzzing when he walks into the shop the next day, but he has himself convinced it’s not interesting enough to share. Everyone picks up on his peppy mood, though, and by late afternoon, Nakayama has him cornered in his chair, grilling him over news that “must be connected to that hot little blond thing that came in here.”

He’s smug when he proves her wrong, but she chuckles, genuinely glad at the news. Ibuki’s voice carries in front the front desk, “don’t forget us when you’re famous!”

The day goes by quickly. His good spirits have him chatting and laughing while he works on a client’s on-going sleeve, a quick refresh of an old tattoo, and a new piece down a customer’s leg that challenges him with the tightness of the text, but he’s proud of it when it’s done.

Tattooing brings him a different kind of focus than performing. With both, he’s wholly present in the moment, but on stage he’s a different version of himself, someone who doesn’t just enjoy the attention, but absolutely welcomes drowning in it. At the shop, he’s just Kuroo. He’s the same charismatic, easy to talk to guy he’s always been, but when he needs to focus, he can still tap into that sharp attention he used during high-pressure games in high school and college.

It’s the reason why he forgets to check his phone until it’s nearly closing time. With his last client out the door, he unlocks his screen to go through the backlog of messages from the past few hours.

 _Kenma, Bokuto, Dad_ \-- then he grins, warmth spreading through his chest -- _Tsukishima_. He reads his message first.

 **Tsukishima [19:03]:** I have some time tomorrow if you all still wanted me to come by the shop. Does Iwaguchi-san have a break in his appointments tomorrow?

Kuroo’s feet carry him quickly back into the studio. He stops short right behind the older man’s back and blurts out, “what’s your schedule look like tomorrow?”

Iwaguchi visibly bristles, his shoulders tense and a gruff sigh escapes his lips. He doesn’t turn around. “Fully booked, why?”

Kuroo takes a step back, remembering himself. Iwaguchi’s never unkind, but he’s far from friendly. The experienced artist is all business with only brief moments of humanity poking through. “Uh, I just -- the guy you did the tree of books for? He has time to come by tomorrow if you still want to photograph it for your portfolio.”

Iwaguchi slowly and methodically sets the tools he was holding down on his work bench before he turns in his chair and looks up at Kuroo. “Between 1:45 and 2, or between 4:15 and 4:30.”

“Yes! Great, thank you. I’ll tell him right away.” Kuroo spins to leave, but Iwaguchi softly calls out after him.

“Tell him thanks.”

“I will. Definitely.”

Kuroo wants to shout his own thanks for the excuse to see Tsukishima again, but all that mess is best left inside his own brain. Plus, from the look that Nakayama is giving him from between strands of her bright blue hair as she cleans her work area, he’s already too obvious as it is.

 

***

 

Tsukishima plans to come in between 4:15 and 4:30 and Kuroo’s both anxious and angry because he’ll be with a client then and, as much as he wants to run over and talk to Tsukishima in person, there’s no way he’s going to sacrifice doing his best for someone who trusts him to mark their skin forever. He resigns himself to the fact that, at best, he’s going to be able to glance up, say a quick hello, and try really hard to look effortlessly attractive while he works.

And that’s pretty much exactly what happens. At 4:15, on the dot, he hears the door to the shop open and Ibuki pops into the entryway between the lobby and the studio to call for Iwaguchi. The older man gets up with a grunt, his hi-tech digital camera in hand, and disappears into the lobby.

Kuroo focuses hards on the blues and purples he’s bringing to life in the night sky on his client’s shoulder, but he can feel when Tsukishima walks back into the studio. His skin gets prickly and tense. He takes a short, deep breath and keeps working, trying not to listen to their exchange so he can throw himself fully into the task before him.

When he lifts the machine to stretch his back and re-ink the needle, Tsukishima’s looking at him. He’s posing in front of a stream of natural light as Iwaguchi takes photos from different angles. Kuroo steadies his hand as his heartbeat starts to race. “Hey,” he says, tilting his chin and pulling his face into a practiced look of cool nonchalance.

He bends back towards his client’s shoulder, pressing the needle to skin once again and thinks, _totally nailed it_. Cool. Aloof. Not at all desperate for attention from Tsukishima Kei.

 _I can follow up in the chat later_ , he tries his best to apply logic to his erratically beating heart. _I can keep talking about music like we were doing yesterday. Send a video or something._

When he looks back up, rolling his shoulders in another light stretch, Tsukishima’s no longer there and Iwaguchi’s back at work at his bench.

As he turns to re-ink the needle, he feels his body being pulled towards the floor. Disappointment quickly sweeps in and wipes away whatever he was feeling before. He cracks a joke and the man in his chair laughs. The comfortable routine of faking it until he makes it.

 _It’s fine_ , he tells himself over and over, _I wasn’t expecting anything more anyway_. But for Kuroo and his crushes, there’s a wide gap between what he expects and what he wants, and he’s always, always hoping for what he wants.

And what he wanted was a chance to talk to Tsukishima today.

He chimes in at the end of his client’s story about their camping trips, the inspiration for this new tattoo and gradually grounds himself in the current moment again. _There’s other days, other chances._

At 4:40, he’s done and gently, but firmly, wiping the pink-red skin before he carefully applies the clear bandage. He watches the man stare at the new ink in the mirror, his smile reaching his eyes and pride swells in his chest. It wasn’t his normal style, but as a beginner he can’t be choosy with his clientele. But even he has to admit it looks good. He’s glad. It’s one thing to help write a song that people enjoy. It’s another thing entirely to be trusted with something this permanent in someone’s life.

With a grin of his own, he walks the man over to the counter to say his normal goodbyes, give the man his card, and give some last minute healing tips --

He freezes in the doorway. His mind empties.

Tsukishima’s sitting in the small waiting area, typing on his laptop.

Panic and elatation flood his body in equal parts ands he paints on a normal face with a winning smile as he sends his client out the door. Tsukishima still hasn’t looked up. Kuroo plants his forearms on Ibuki’s desk, opens his eyes wide, and silently mouths -- _what the--?_

Ibuki sets her jaw tight with determination, her eyebrows severe when he silently replies, her black lipstick framing the words -- _go talk to him._

He knows in that moment, looking at her face, that she had something to do with this. _What did she say to him? What is he -- later._ He slowly spins on his heel, carves the same grin back onto his face from before. His voice is low when it leaves, “Didn’t expect to see you here still.”

Tsukishima taps hard at his keyboard, then calmly closes the lid. He glances up over the top of his glasses. “I had a few emails I needed to quickly reply to. Seemed as good a place as any.”

_ Always prepared to save face _ . Kuroo’s reminded of all the times Tsukishima acted like he hated extra practice at the training camp, even when he stayed for all those hours. Then there’s that one magnificent memory of Tsukishima catching his breath, grinning from across the net, and admitting that sometimes volleyball is fun.  _ There’s always more below the surface with this one. _

“Well, if you’re done with your _emails_ ,” he taunts with a raised eyebrow knowing that can't be the only reason Tsukishima stayed behind, “there’s a cafe around the corner and I’m in desperate need of some afternoon caffeine before my next appointment.”

It's a gamble.

It pays off.

__

__***_ _

 

On the short walk over, conversation stalls. They fall in step together, but it’s robotic, unnatural. He keeps tripping over his feet as he changes his gait to try and match Tsukishima’s. Kuroo is again left wondering why it’s so hard. He mentally runs through their texts, thinking about topics where Tsukishima was more likely to respond --  _ Mister, music, making fun of me _ .

He dives back into their earlier texts about music, asking if Tsukishima listened to the song he sent this morning.

He hasn’t, but that’s fine. It opens the door for more.

The flat line of Tsukishima’s mouth quirks upwards as he talks about his latest music discoveries, how his taste in music is clearly more refined, more cultured.

Kuroo snort laughs.

Tsukishima looks smug, like Kuroo’s just proven his point for him.

And Tsukishima’s mountain of evidence grows when Kuroo orders an icy, sugar-filled, chocolate and caramel flavored coffee treat. He sneers the moment Kuroo’s done ordering.

“What?” Kuroo shoots back.

“That’s disgusting.” Tsukishima’s face is still twisted together, judgement written across his face.

“Like yours is better? Black coffee? You know they can do  _ good _ things with coffee, right?”

“At least it’s an adult’s beverage. Not--” Tsukishima motions towards a group of high schoolers, a few of whom are sipping on drinks that look just like the one Kuroo will be drinking soon.

Kuroo shrugs, stepping closer to the register. “I like what I like.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but he gently slips past, putting money down on the counter before Kuroo can even reach for his wallet. “A drink for a drink - now we’re even.”

Kuroo searches Tsukishima’s face for the meaning behind the gesture, any sign if he should take it at face value or dive deep below the surface and find what he’s hoping for. There’s not enough time for either. He’s caught staring and Tsukishima looks away towards the windows and moves to the side so he’s closer to the counter while they wait for their drinks - and a bit farther away from Kuroo.

There’s more stiff conversation and a lot of awkwardly shifting weight from foot to foot while they wait in the busy cafe, dodging other customers when they need to, before Tsukishima picks a spot in the corner.

Picking sounds like there was some discussion. Rather, Tsukishima grabbed his drink as soon as it hit the counter and walked with a steady determination to a quiet corner and didn’t look back to see if Kuroo followed.

In two squeaky chairs, they settle in with only a tiny cafe table between them. Kuroo thinks about how their knees briefly touch. He gathers himself. He starts with a simple, “How’s work today?”

Tsukishima shrugs, “Same as always.” He takes a sip of his coffee and, judging by his reaction, it must be way too hot still. “I translate. My boss who knows barely any English tells me it’s garbage. I try very hard not to pitch my laptop across my living room. I try again.”

“And the comic? Novel… thing?”

One of Tsukishima’s hands drops below the table and his arm subtly vibrates like he’s drumming his fingers on his leg. “Webcomic. And it’s good. Fine. It’s a lot of work, but better work.” He opens his mouth again, lips shaping the sound of some syllable before they shut again. Tsukishima takes another sip of too-hot coffee.

It gets quiet. Kuroo fills it. “I get that. I definitely work longer hours at the shop, especially when I add in all my recording and rehearsal time, but it’s way better than any of the office temp work I did right after graduating.”

Tsukishima nods softly, now wrapping both hands around the paper coffee cup.

Quiet. Again.

Kuroo takes his first sip of his sugary monstrosity, careful to not get any of the copious amounts of whip cream on his nose. It coats his throat on the way down in the best kind of way and he savors it, letting the quiet just be okay for a little while.

Tsukishima drums his fingers on the side of his cup. “Do you like working at the shop?”

Kuroo looks up, his heart full from the simple gesture of Tsukishima asking him a question, too. “Yea, I love it. Everyone there is great and, like, it’s my favorite art form - I mean, besides music.” As he talks, Tsukishima gets a sort of sideways, funny grin on his face.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve got --” Tsukishima places one slender finger along the side of his nose “--whip cream.”

Kuroo’s hand flies up to his nose, squshing against a dollop of whip cream. Swiping it off with his finger, he slips it into his mouth and licks it off.

“So what are--” He cuts himself off. Tsukishima’s face has changed. The casually apathetic veneer is gone and in its place is an intense gaze that Kuroo feels from his fingertips to his toes. Tsukishima’s lips are parted on some unsaid word and he's staring, thoughts swirling behind his eyes.

It’s a look that gives Kuroo wild, unchained hopes.

_Maybe_.

_ Maybe Tsukishima likes me, too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! This chapter came later for a few reasons - work, exhaustion, aaaand being so stuck on that final scene that I wanted to scream. But *wipes hands* we reached a point where it's good enough to go out!
> 
> Aaaaand it's, like, way longer than the other chapters. I think that might just be the trend for a little while. We're getting to THE GOOD STUFF and I, for one, am ABOUT IT.
> 
> How much shy pining can there be before the dam breaks? WE SHALL SEE, WON'T WE?
> 
> Thankssssss °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° for reading and enjoying!


	11. It's not love, but it is annoying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima has some family time, some Yachi time, and some _interesting_ Kuroo time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday tomorrow, so here's a gift for y'all! (And Noya, since we share the day of our birth. Noya probably ships krtsk, too.)
> 
> Also, big thanks to [@ZeldaWonderwall](https://twitter.com/HeyMellieJellie) on twitter for offering to Beta starting with this chapter! IT'S SO FREAKING HELPFUL.

It’s not that Tsukishima doesn’t fall in love, it’s that he never _wants_ to fall in love.

When it happens, it’s against his will. Love happens because some tiny yet powerful, impulsive part of himself finally manages to override his much more powerful rational mind. Chemistry is a bitch, even inside Tsukishima’s well-organized mind.

And there’s some kind of chemical reaction happening with Kuroo.

That much is obvious, as much as he’d like to ignore it. There’s no other explanation for how quickly he’s let Kuroo into his daily routine while he keeps people he’s known for months, years at an arm’s length away.

Outside on his balcony, Tsukishima succumbs to his favorite worst vice and lights one of the few cigarettes left in the pack he bought several weeks ago. _At least they’re few and far between now._

The early evening is cloudy and there’s a breeze, especially from up on the fourth floor. The wind carries each puff quickly away from his lips and out into the almost autumn air. It’s still warm and humid during the day, but the evenings are so much better already. He’s looking forward to welcoming the change.

He feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. It could be Yamaguchi, maybe Akiteru sending pictures of Emi, or one of the illustrators spamming the group chat in need of encouragement or a kick in the ass -- but it’s probably Kuroo.

Every couple of hours, Kuroo sends him a song he thinks Tsukishima might like, some cat pictures, or some random comment about his day. There’s nothing really substantive to the conversations which, in retrospect, is probably why they’ve been so easy to respond to -- why it’s been so easy to _want_ to reply. It’s light. It’s fun. It’s a break in his day. It reminds him of the weird maybe-almost-kind of friendship they had before.

The phone vibrates again. Tsukishima sighs and hangs his head from where’s he’s standing, forearms resting on the railing.

_Oh, are you leaving? I think Kuroo would love to say “hi” to you. He should be done in, like, ten minutes if you want to hang around._

Truthfully, while Iwaguchi was taking pictures of his arm, Tsukishima had considered finding some reason to stay behind at the shop or, at the very least, ask when Kuroo might be done. But the receptionist had beaten him to it. Her black lipstick had curled into a sharp grin, her voiced dropped from it’s usual cheery tone to a much lower register, and she casually mentioned that he should stay.

Tsukishima’s not particularly good at reading expressions, but he could read hers. She clearly remembered him as more than just Iwaguchi’s client.

So, he stayed - _out of curiosity_ , he tells himself. Then he’d gone for coffee, for reasons he’d rather not think about for too long. And then the idiot had the audacity to _lick his fingers like that_ in the middle of a public place.

His foolish brain had leapt at the opportunity to remind him of how he’d felt when he watched Kuroo on stage, when the shirt was gone and the noisy concert venue got inexplicably quiet.

Tsukishima lifts his head and takes a long drag from his cigarette.

It’s not love, but it is annoying.

He sulks through the last bit of his cigarette, trying hard to ignore the prickle of excitement he gets whenever his brain traitorously wanders towards the last text Kuroo sent or the way he looked when he laughed to break the tension after the _whip cream incident_.

His phone rings and there’s only two people it could be - Akiteru or his mother. Everyone else in the world is on vibrate at best, even Yamaguchi. He puts out the end of cigarette, reaches for his phone in his back pocket, and answers the video call.

“Uncle Kei!” Emi screeches, bouncing and shaking the phone with her.

Tsukishima laughs, his face stretching into a wide smile. “Hi there, Emi. How are you?”

“So super, duper good! Today I watch a show - dinosaurs!” She mispronounces the word and keeps right on going. “T-Rex is so big. And he eats other ones. But then, then some eat the trees --” Tsukishima walks back inside his apartment, listening intently as his niece rambles her way through the dinosaur DVD he bought her a few months ago. He nods along, adding his own facts along the way that he knows Emi’s not really listening to. Her brain is too busy spitting out every single thing she remembers.

Something catches her eye and she turns, dropping the phone.

Akiteru picks it up, winks in the camera, and then focuses it back on his daughter. Tsukishima hears his voice as Emi turns back around, “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask your uncle?”

“Oh yea!” Her eyes grow big and she scoots right up to the camera until her face is blurry and out of focus. “Show me your kitty!”

“Emi--” Akiteru says.

“Please,” she adds quickly.

Tsukishima chuckles, “Sure, but I have to find him first.”

He carries the phone with him throughout his apartment checking Mister’s favorite spots. To her credit, Emi waits patiently, looking along with her uncle as Tsukishima points the camera so she can see, too.

When she spots him under the bed, she yells “Kitty!” so loud that Mister’s ears immediately point away from them and he turns his face to look at the wall.

“Get him out? Please?” She adds the last word immediately, remembering her manners.

With the camera still facing Mister, he replies, “I’ll try, but he doesn’t really like it.” Tsukishima reaches under his bed and places a gentle hand on the part of Mister he can reach. The cat responds by folding his front paws under himself and scrunching up his body so he’s impossibly small and also just beyond Tsukishima’s reach. He tries coaxing him out a few more times, it’s for Emi after all, but ultimately he gives up.

Emi pouts on the other end. “Try again after my supper?”

“I can do that.”

“Okay!” She replies and drops the phone again and, from the sounds he can hear, wanders off somewhere else. Tsukishima stares up at his brother’s ceiling for a few moments before Akiteru comes into view.

“Sorry about that. Still working on the whole ‘how to politely end a conversation’ thing.”

“You know I don’t care.”

They share the usual back and forth while Akiteru finishes making dinner - their days, the weather, whatever cute thing Emi did that day. As they talk, Tsukishima feels an itch on his tongue, the desire to blurt out that he’s looking into getting a literary agent with Yachi. But in the end, Akiteru goes to eat dinner with his family before Tsukishima works up the nerve. Telling Akiteru would mean his parents would know. Then it would be a thing, a really, real thing, and he’s just not ready for that yet.

At least when he hangs up his head feels a bit more clear, less foggy and frustrating. Emi’s good at that.

He starts walking towards his kitchen to see what there is for his own dinner, and Mister comes strolling out of his bedroom.

Tsukshima rolls his eyes. “You’re very rude, you know that, right?”

 

***

 

 **Kuroo [18:34]:** Do you still talk to shrimpy and sour face from Karasuno?

 **[19:03]:** Not often, but I did enjoy your use of the phrase “sour face.” Why?

 **Kuroo [19:05]:** I was talking to Bokuto and he mentioned something Hinata said and I was like  
**Kuroo [19:05]:** whoa, blast from the past there.  
**Kuroo [19:05]:** Apparently they still talk.

 **[19:05]:** Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.

 **Kuroo [19:06]:** But you remember him?  
**Kuroo [19:06]:** Bokuto?

 **[19:06]:** Loud people are hard to forget.

 **Kuroo [19:07]:** That must be why you remembered meeeeeeee

 **[19:08]:** Too obnoxious to be forgotten?

 **Kuroo [19:08]:** More like too excellent to be lost to the passage of time.

 **[19:09]:** mmm. sure.

 

 **Kuroo [19:45]:** Send me cat pics.

 **[19:47]:** What?

 **Kuroo [19:48]:** Rough day. Cat pics? Pleassseeeeee.  
**Kuroo [19:48]:** Here’s a gif as payment---

 

***

 

“This is like writing cover letters for a job but, like, eight hundred times harder.”

Across from one another in their tiny studio-like cubicle, Tsukishima and Yachi are hunched over their laptops, mutually crafting and editing their third query letter of the evening.

It’s blissfully quiet. Ukulele man isn’t next door trying to make Tsukishima’s brain bleed out of his ears, but his brain is doing a good enough job of making loud static noises in his mind as he reads the same sentence over and over.

“Why is it so hard to convince people to like us?”

“Right? Why can’t we just write --” Yachi raises her voice, “our book is good and we are good people so please help us, pretty please, because we hate our jobs and just want to work really hard to make nice books. About murder. Okay, thanks.”

A snort laugh catches in Tsukishima’s throat. “Exactly. Just type that.”

“I wish I could,” Yachi groans. She pushes her laptop away from her. “Can we take a break? I need to look at something else before all of the words stop looking like words.”

Tsukishima shuts his laptop in reply and Yachi breathes a sigh of relief, sliding against the back of her chair until he’s half off of it, her blonde hair sticking to the back and poking out in crazy directions. He stares and blinks back, raising an eyebrow and cracking his knuckles before leaning to rest his head on his palm.

“Fine,” she sighs and she pops back upright. “Guess what I brought?” She changes the subject.

Tsukishima shrugs.

She hums a little tune as she reaches into her bag, a little melodic drumming sound that builds as she pulls out a stack of notebooks. It takes him a second, but warmth floods his chest as soon as he recognizes them.

“It’s all of our originals!” She places them gently on the table between them.

He cracks a smile. “Been a while since I’ve seen those.”

“I know, right? I was going through some boxes in an effort to get my life together for the eightieth time this year and I found all of them.”

Still resting his head on one arm, he reaches the other lazily across the tabletop to trace a finger along the slightly bent metal wiring of the frayed green notebook at the top of the stack. That one was the first.

That night they started to fill that notebook was a fun one. The night they transitioned from friends to a little more like family.

Their initial friendship was born out of proximity and a shared sense of duty to the team. If he’s honest, Tsukishima also enjoyed Yachi’s proclivity to catastrophizing. It was amusing, plus he felt a connection to her because of it. He just kept all his anxiety below the surface, so perhaps it was cathartic to see someone who let it all hang out in the open.

They kept in touch in college, but he only saw her about as often as Hinata - several months in between short catchups in Miyagi when he went home for major holidays.

And then - graduation. Tsukishima had a job lined up in Tokyo for a place he interned with. Then - no apartment. The lease fell through. Legal issues with the landlord. No place to stay and a job starting in only a few days.

He made a quick comment in a text. Yachi called him immediately after with a sincere invitation.

“That was such a weird night,” he remarks, remembering the drunken night where they realized they both read the same crime series, both listened to the same nerdy podcasts, both watched the same true crime documentaries over and over.

Yachi smiles wide, stretches, and rests her head on two folded arms while she looks up at him from just beyond the notebooks. “The whole situation was so weird then. I had no idea how to act with anyone, let alone you, in my house. But you can’t leave a friend to fend for themselves.”

“Still - thank you for that.”

“Still - a thanks was never required, never will be,” she replies with practiced ease.

As an overwhelming fondness overtakes him, Tsukishima changes the subject. “I can’t believe we knew each other for that many years without knowing we were into the same stuff.”

“I should have guessed it,” she starts. “Aloof, tall, standoffish dude - a murderino? Yea, I should have known.”

“And it’s always the small, happy ones who have a hunger for the macabre.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she winks and sits upright again, starting to thumb through the small stack of notebooks marked throughout with sketches, outlines, and rough - really rough - drafts of the story that would become the book they’re pitching now.

It’s finished - sort of. It’s definitely in need of major revising and editing with the sharp eye of a trained professional. Tsukishima knows there’s good in there, but it’s sat dormant for so long. He knows they’ve both grown as creators and that their original draft of that story needs a lot of help before it can grow into something better.

 _But it can get there_. He actually lets the thought sit in his mind for a while before shoving it away like he usually does. Something about being in the presence of Yachi makes him feel a little lighter, a little more hopeful. The woman’s a mess, but she a mess that gets things done.

 _We get things done_ , he adds.

That night they do exactly that - get things done. They stay at the studio until it gets too late and they end up at Yachi’s apartment, shoveling take-out into their faces while they switch between meeting the current week’s publishing deadline and continuing to churn out targeted query letters to their short list of agents.

When he leaves to catch a late train, Tsukishima feels tired in his bones, but he feels a satisfaction that he can only find in this kind of work. His neck is sore from typing. His hands are stiff from writing - he always has gripped his pencil too hard. There’s a kink in his back that he’ll have to work out when he gets home - after he feeds a probably grumpy cat. But he’s content.

The night air ushers in reality again. He starts to remind himself that it’s all a longshot at best. There’s no guarantee of success with any of this, no matter how much effort and time they spend on trying to make it become something real. That little voice in his head that tries to tell him it’s all quite stupid, that his efforts would be better spent in building his translating career starts to get louder.

He shuts it off. Or at least muffles it the best he can.

He takes out his phone to text Akiteru--

 **[23:47]:** I know you’re asleep, have been for hours, but I’ll probably never tell you otherwise -- Yachi and I are working on getting a literary agent for our book. Don’t tell mom. Or dad. Or talk to me about it ever unless I bring it up.

A few minutes later, his phone vibrates. He’s surprised when he thinks it’s a reply from Akiteru. _Maybe Emi can’t sleep_.But it’s Kuroo.

 **Kuroo [23:52]:** You ever think about how sea lions don’t look like lions at all?

 **[23:52]:** No.

He turns off the vibration and pockets his phone as soon as he steps onto the platform at his station, ready to walk home. He blames the perk in his step that gets him home much faster than usual on the success of the evening’s work. Nothing else.

 

***

 

The moment Tsukishima opens the bathroom door after his shower, Mister rushes in like he does every night, like he cannot possibly believe he’s been _locked out_ of a room, like he deserves free reign of the apartment at every moment. Towel around his waist, he steps around his cat and shuffles his feet along the fake-wood flooring. He slides past his couch and realizes his phone is lit up from a recent message.

He almost keeps walking.

Almost.

 **Kuroo [22:29]:** Is the tree your only tattoo?

Tsukishima thinks back to all the times he’s seen Kuroo, especially at the shop. Surely, Kuroo would have seen bits of the others. They’re not as large and parts of the one on his back is hidden unless his sleeves are pushed up high, but --

 **[22:30]:** No. Have a few others. Smaller, though.

 **Kuroo [22:30]:** Cool. Was just curious.

He waits for another reply, for the steady string of messages as Kuroo records his stream of consciousness while pressing _send_ before his thoughts are finished. But nothing comes. The message sits there without any follow up.

Mister rubs up against one of his legs and the way the fur sticks to him reminds him that he’s standing in his living room in a towel and letting little droplets of water pool at his feet.

He gives the message one, two moments more before he drops it back down on his couch and goes to his bedroom. On the edge of his bed he’s laid out his sweatpants for the evening, freshly washed and dried. So, naturally, they’re covered in cat hair in a neat little circle near the knees.

On the walk back to the bathroom to hang up the towel, he tries and fails to not look at his phone. No new messages.

For a while he paces between the few rooms of his apartment. Bathroom to tidy up after the shower. Kitchen to start boiling water for tea. Living room to not look at his phone but move his laptop so Mister doesn’t sit on it. Kitchen to make tea. Bedroom to grab a shirt in case he gets cold. Living room to work on the script for next week’s comic after pushing Mister off the keyboard because he found it anyway.

The phone sits next to him, face up. No new messages.

 _I have better willpower than this_.

He takes a sip of his usual nighttime herbal tea, a remedy that should make him sleepy but hardly ever does, and hammers on the keys with a little extra force.

Tsukishima makes it a whopping three minutes before he dumps the laptop beside him and picks up his phone.

 **[22:41]:** I have a smaller one on the inside of my arm, then another along my back. Surprised you didn’t see them at the shop.

He debates erasing the second sentence but ultimately leaves it in and slams his finger on the send key.

 _Done._ _It was just a weird way to end a conversation before._

 **Kuroo [22:42]:** Guess I wasn’t looking that closely  
**Kuroo [22:42]:** at your arm

The first text is an expected part of a rather plain conversation. The second, though? _Why even add that?_ _Why point out that he was specifically not looking at my arm?_

Tsukishima groans at the millions of unspoken rules of human communication and turns his phone screen-side down on the couch. He pushes past the wandering thoughts in his mind and focuses on work again.

But he quickly finds that, as annoying as all this lack of clarity is, it’s a kind of challenge if he looks at it in a different light. If there’s something to win, a way to seem more bitingly clever than someone else, then he might be interested.

 **[22:48]:** Don’t know what else you were looking at, but okay.

He feels pleased, like he can picture the look on Kuroo’s face when he reads it, pulling from memories from a decade ago.

 **Kuroo [22:49]:** Typically in a conversation, you look at someone’s face…  
**Kuroo [22:49]:** But maybe my social skills are just far more respectable than yours.

A grin peeks out of the corner of his mouth.

 **[22:49]:** Some faces are particularly unpleasant to look at.

 **Kuroo [22:50]:** It’s a good thing that doesn’t apply to either of us.

The _either of us_ rattles him for a beat before he gets his bearings again.

 **[22:51]:** You sure about that?

 **Kuroo [22:51]:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
**Kuroo [22:51]:** So what are the other tats?

Tsukishima subconsciously picks at his elbow as he considers how to answer. He decides on facts. They’re both interested in tattoos, after all. This is similar to any conversation he might have with any of the people in the illustrators group.

 **[22:52]:** I have one on the inside of my arm, just above the elbow. The tree is all around it now, but it was my first.

For a second he feels the somewhat familiar sting of happy embarrassment that comes from a first tattoo. It’s a little too big, a little too _much,_ but at that time and place in his life, it was exactly what he wanted. And he still loves it now.

He starts typing a description -- _it’s_ _a skull with vines and--_ decides a picture is easier and makes it sound less stupid. He turns his arm out so the inside catches the light and snaps a picture. He sends the first one, deciding it’s good enough. It’s only after he hits _send_ that he realizes the side of his ribcage is also clearly evident in the picture, too. He shrugs it off externally, but the stressful static that comes from imperfect interactions starts to sound louder in the back of his mind.

 **Kuroo [22:53]:** That was your FIRST?  
**Kuroo [22:53]:** awesome  
**Kuroo [22:53]:** my first was way less cool

He receives a shot of Kuroo’s upper chest. At the center of it is an abstract guitar with tribal-like lines running throughout. Somewhere in his mind, Tsukishima is crafting a remark about the absolute tackiness of the fake tribal style, but the rest of him is currently far too occupied with checking out everything _else_ in the photo. It’s far less than he saw at the show, but it’s so much closer.

 **[22:54]:** You’re right. Mine is cooler.

 **Kuroo [10:54]:** It’s alright. I’ll win in the end.

 **[22:55]:** With quantity?

 **Kuroo [22:55]:** With quantity AND quality. Check it.

What follows can only be described as close-ups of Kuroo’s body thinly disguised as an opportunity to show off tattoos. Sure, Tsukishima can see the vividly colored mythological creatures on his ribs, but there’s rather nice abs right next to them. And yes, he can appreciate the artistic rendition of sheet music, but the bicep underneath it is nice, too. Kuroo’s face isn’t even in any of them, so _what’s the harm?_ _I’m just a human. It’s allowed sometimes._

Maybe Kuroo had an innocent intent originally, but as the angles and the lighting change and the time between shots grows larger, Tsukishima knows he’s not just firing off whatever picture he gets first. Kuroo is carefully picking each one.

Now Tsukishima’s glad he didn’t bother with a shirt. The room’s a bit too warm.

But he’s not one to be out-done. Before the idea that this is all positively _ridiculous_ can change his mind, he sprints back to the bathroom and takes several over-the-shoulder pictures of the crows along his upper back, pleased at the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips towards the bottom of the shot.

He hits send on the best one, feeling triumphant.

He doesn’t want to name the game they’re playing. It’s somewhere past the realm of a normal conversation, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to admit to flirting. It’s talking. With a bonus. That he can deal with later when he overthinks himself to death.

The reply is quick.

 **Kuroo [23:01]:** Nice. Are those crows?  
**Kuroo [23:01]:** Freaking Karasuno.  
**Kuroo [23:01]:** that’s deeply more sentimental than I’d expect from someone like you

Tsukishima begins working his way through a snappy reply when he’s interrupted--

 **Kuroo [23:01]:** I like it, though.  
**Kuroo [23:01]:** All of it.

And then the constant, low-level anxious static at the back of his mind starts to sound like a high-pitched whine.

He types a quick, meaningless reply so he can walk away from this conversation--

 **[23:02]:** Thanks

Then he drops the phone on the couch and decides it’s time to clean Mister’s litter box, maybe go ahead and clean the dishes from dinner. Actually just all the dishes. He has a lot of energy all of a sudden.

It’s not until later, when he’s left the phone in the living room and thrown himself onto his bed, that he realizes just how long it took for his heat rate to slow back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Tsukishima. So complex, yet so simple at his core. Truly he's the best. Anywayyyy--
> 
> Things are progressing! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟThe bois have their creative work, but oh goodness, they also have each other. Currently in the plan for ch 12 there's another scene I was looking forward to writing, but now that it's here I'm like *sweating* over it. But still excited and looking forward to it. Writing is weird.
> 
> Glad you're still out there reading! Thanks for every kudos, bookmark, and comment. They are super encouraging and keep me going!


	12. Let fate decide.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a mini-update from the next chapter shared as a celebration of Kurotsukki day! It's still 11/1 in my time zone, so I'm in under the wire!  
> Happy krtsk day, everyone!
> 
> Kuroo reacts to text messages and involves Kenma (against his will).

Kuroo is sprawled upside-down on his couch, his head hanging off the side and his legs strewn across the back.

And there are _feelings_.

For every text he gets from Tsukishima, Kenma receives plenty more.

**[22:53]:** Kenmaaaaaaaaa Kenmakenmakenmakenmaaaa  
**[22:53]:** I think we’re flirting  
**[22:53]:** Me and tsukishima  
**[22:53]:** Like I think this is flirting  
**[22:53]:** I need you to assess the situation with your little robot brain

He gets up and walks the short distance between his living room and his bathroom over and over as they text back and forth.

Then abruptly, he stops mid-stride, turns back to his living room and turns on all of his lamps, shutting off the bright overhead light. He sets the timer and takes one, two, three selfies of the tattoo along his ribs, moving around the room so the light hits him in different ways. He picks the best and sends it.

All around his house, he shuts on and off different lights until he likes how each of his tattoos look in the light. And his muscles. They need to catch the light right, too.

But effortlessly. It needs to look like he’s not trying at all. Satisfied with the results, he keeps choosing from the tens of photos and sending his favorites.

Then panic. He stops dead in the doorway between his bedroom and his living room.

He can see Tsukishima in his bathroom, his whole back on display. The audacity that man has to let his pants hang that low.

His thumbs keep misfiring as he tries to reply, but eventually he sends a message back - after _all that_.

Kenma’s next--

**[23:01]:** where are yooooouuuu  
**[23:01]:** This is an emergency  
**[23:01]:** He sent me a picture of his BODY

Stupidly emboldened by the notion that -- _we are probably flirting, definitely, maybe, yes_ \-- Kuroo tries to push them forward. _Just a bit. This is still Tsukishima_. 

More panic--

**[23:03]:** oh crap, crapppppppp he hasn’t replied  
**[23:03]:** I weirded him out  
**[23:03]:** I said something I shouldn’t have and now he’s gone

**Kenma Kitty [23:04]:** you are so obnoxious - he probably just went to sleep

Kuroo collapses back on his couch, legs flopping wherever they fall. He sinks into the old cushions, his hair falling into his eyes.

**[23:04]:** FINALLY. I needed you. He still hasn’t replied.

**Kenma Kitty [23:05]:** you’re overthinking things - private things - that I don’t really want to know about anyway but you’re going to tell me so why am I even typing this right now

**[23:05]:** exactly, you get me, I love you, now listen  
**[23:05]:** he sent me pics of his tattoos, I was sending him mine, whatever, it was a thing. a nice conversation thing, and then I said “I liked it. All of it.” and I meant his tattoos but I also meant more than his tattoos because I was trying to flirt back but maybe I did too much  
**[23:06]:** usually I’d just be like, bam hot selfie, bam let’s hang out, you know? but this whole time I had no idea if he was interested so I didn’t do any of my usual moves, be respectful and all that cause being friends would be cool too, but I like him, like really like him  
**[23:06]:** *inhales deeply* help meeeeeeeeee

Kuroo’s phone starts to vibrate in his hands. Kenma’s name and the photo he took of him one morning when his hair was sticking up in a hundred different directions flashes across his screen.

“Kitty cat?”

There’s a long sigh on the other end and the sounds of an action game in the background. “I’m in the middle of a fight. This is easier than trying to type.”

Kuroo’s used to this. He closes his eyes and wishes Kenma was still just a few doors away. Then he could run over there and panic in person like the good ol’ days. But for now he can just listen and pretend he’s stuffing chips in his face and cheering for Kenma in between rounds of pouring out his chaotic little soul to his best friend.

“Okay so first I need you to run your calculations and tell me if you think he was flirting or not.”

“Why the hell do you think I would know?”

“Because you just _know_. You listen to my nonsense and then you make it all rational, or whatever.”

“Fine. So you sent each other pictures of your tattoos?”

“Yes.”

“And the pictures showed more than just the tattoo?”

“Yes. Especially mine. But also his. His last one Kenma, I--”

“That’s flirting.”

“How can you be sure? What if--”

“That’s. Flirting.”

Kuroo starts to chuckle at his friend’s overly serious tone, but then he hears something unexpected on the other end - silence. From what he can hear it sounds like Kenma’s paused his game or, the unthinkable, turned it off. “Kitty cat?”

A sigh. “I’m only saying this because I’ve known you a long time, alright?”

Kuroo starts to feel a worried pinch in his stomach. “Okay.”

“Like too long,” Kenma laughs quietly, but it sounds forced. His tone is soft but there’s a layer to it that adds to the tension building in Kuroo’s body.

On the other end, he hears his best friend take a few breaths. He waits. Nothing happens. “Kenma, you’re killing me - what do you want to say?”

“Be patient. I’m planning,” Kenma replies. This time Kuroo waits like he’s been asked to. Typically Kenma shuts his rambling off with a few sharp words. He saves his quiet talks for when he thinks Kuroo needs it. Like right before their last game together at Nationals. Right before Kuroo graduated. Oh, and every time Kenma thought Kuroo was about to self-implode - again - and he tried to step in before disaster struck.

He hears Kenma take another deep breath before he speaks again. “If this one really matters to you, is now the best time? I’ve watched the last few attempts mess you up when they--”

“I wasn’t messed--”

“You were, okay? Just-- I want you to remember why your last few breakups happened.”

For a few weeks now, Kuroo’s been brushing off the last one - a man who’d seen him play at a few shows. They hit it off. A few dates. Then he was inevitably dumped because, “you don’t have any time for me.”

Of course, that happened right after that woman he saw - a bartender at a venue he feels weird playing at now if she’s working. Same story. They flirted. Had fun. But Kuroo couldn’t sustain it. He was dumped for “not having time for anything but work.”

Over and over again. The pattern sucks to see, but it’s too obvious for even Kuroo to ignore, as much as he tries to. He always sets out just to have fun.

Fun. He knows the exact moment that became his relationship goal. The exact moment he watched his last long-term relationship fall apart two years ago. There were a lot of problems, but he knows the guilt fell on both sides. And it was the same then - “I always come last in your life.”

_Damnit, maybe Kenma has a point_.

“You’ve been quiet for a long time. Alarmingly quiet for you. Are you broken?” Kenma asks.

Kuroo laughs weakly, “Nah, still here. Just thinking.”

“I can be wrong.”

“No, you’re my little brain for a reason.” As he says it, he can imagine the look Kenma gives in response, his nose scrunching up, eyebrows pinching in disdain at the nickname. “Thanks, Kitty Cat. I’ll think about it.”

“You should talk to your dad.”

Now it’s Kuroo’s turn to scrunch up his face. “No, no no no. That’s so uncomfortable.”

“Come on, he’s so much better with _feelings_.”

The way Kenma says the word “feelings” makes Kuroo laugh, for real this time. “Fine, fine. More to think about. But any more thinking and I might actually break my brain. You wanna play _Smash_ now? I can open a match for us.”

“Same rules?”

“You know it.”

 

  
***

 

Contrary to his panic-induced thoughts, Tsukishima does not, in fact, stop texting him. True, Kuroo spends an entire text-less day rereading his last message and profusely sweating, but the next day he gathers his courage and sends a quick note.

In the morning, he lines up a shot of his coffee table with a well-made cup of coffee still steaming front of center in the stream of sunlight peeking through his front windows. Behind it, his couch is visible, though a little out of focus. He types out a message to include with the picture.

**[8:45]:** I could use some morning company. A cat would be perfect right about now.

He presses send and metaphorically pats himself on the back. While there’s always some secret, inner panic when it comes to flirting, this stuff with Tsukishima has bordered on his high school levels of indecision. _I don’t want to scare him away, but my god, let’s go somewhere._ The message hints at more, but leaves it open for, well, nothing.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Kenma’s voice pokes at him. He pushes it away. _Let fate decide_.

While working at the shop, he hardly ever checks his phone, but after sending the text, Kuroo makes sure not to check it by keeping it tucked away in the back room until he has a longer break between clients.

**Tsukishima [11:21]:** Are you sure about that? Look at what my little monster did while I was out.

The text precedes a picture of Mister with the remnants of a cardboard box and its paper contents ripped and strewn across Tsukishima’s living room floor.

Kuroo smiles at his screen. It’s not exactly what he _wants_ but it does brighten his day.

**[13:33]:** a small price to pay for living with such a majestic creature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for still reading. ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ I hope you're enjoying reading characters texting. That's like... a lot of what this is. Ha. Well.. FOR NOW. As always, thanks to ZeldaWonderwall on twitter for being my beta. Chapter 12 has been nearly done for a while now but it's been difficult finding the time to finish it since work picked up (and I've been on so many out of town trips this month)and uh... we got some interesting stuff coming so I didn't want to rush it. BUT ALSO I had, had, had to share for krtsk day.
> 
> Thank you again, friends!


	13. Ch 12 part 2: More Kuroo!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After rationalizing the situation with Kenma, Kuroo basically ignores all of that.

Ever since being on the radio, every member of Glory Days has been able to tap into some newfound creative energy. It helps that the station that shared their song the first time keeps the song in a regular rotation for the next few days during their late night time slots. Everyone’s confidence receives a healthy boost and Kuroo wants to ride it for as long as they can.

When he’s not at the shop, Kuroo’s in the recording studio when they can get time and in their practice space every other moment of the day. He shovels convenience store food into his face as he walks from one train line to another and sleeps like a rock every night - well, once his brain decides to stop thinking of new ideas in the shower that he has to write down before he forgets them - _then_ he sleeps like a rock. For a few hours.

Kuroo knows how he gets sometimes, how he can turn into an uncontrollable people-loving, creative, energetic speeding train with no stops. It’s exciting, but it’s a lot. Even for himself. He can sometimes feel the draw of slowing down, can see how it would be nice, but he just barrels through, knowing that the train will stop eventually. For now, though, there’s a buzzing throughout his whole body and he’ll harness it the best he can.

It’s how he ends up agreeing to play with Daishou and Late to the Party that Friday. Of course he agrees. Because it’s not like he’s not already doing too much.

_Just keep going until we’re there._

Kuroo’s on the floor next to Oyori in their rehearsal space, running through the baseline of one of Glory Days’ songs on the new EP to see if they want to tweak it before Soga finalizes the editing process. The rest of the band is perched around Soga’s shoulders, Alisa on the left and Tora on the right, listening to the same parts of songs over and over again to give their feedback.

“Nah, I liked how it was before,” Tora says, getting too close to Soga’s screen as he points. Soga swipes his hand away, but Kuroo hears the original arrangement play again.

Alisa nods excitedly beside them, “definitely. It’s like, less polished but it feels more… present. Does that make sense?”

With a focused stare and lips pulled tight in a thin line, Soga subtly nods in agreement.

Tora points at the screen again before his hand is smacked away. “You know this third song still doesn’t have a title.”

Kuroo looks up from where he’s working with Oyori and groans. “Don’t remind me.” He runs a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know why nothing works.”

"You know my method," Oyori looks up from their bass to chime in, "pick one word from the chorus and call it a title."

"No, no, it has to mean something," Kuroo replies and Oyori subtly rolls their eyes.

"I agree with Kuroo. It has to be just right," Alisa nods.

"Thank you!" Kuroo gestures with his hands.

Soga doesn't look up from his screen, "Fair, but at this rate, it's going on the EP as _Song 3._ "

"Oh! Like Blur's _Song 2_! Now I like it," Tora laughs.

"No, that's horrible," Kuroo whines. "Alright, what have we tried so far?"

The band runs through the last several titles, none of them agreed on by everyone. It's a bittersweet song about missing someone the speaker knows they shouldn't miss, about carrying regret and hating it. But for all its melancholy, it ends on a powerful note. The speaker learns to let go and Alisa gets to triumphantly scream the chorus one last time as the previously sad lyrics take on a new shape when the mood changes.

Every person in the band has a part of it they connect to the most. Even if the lyrics begin with Oyori and Kuroo, everyone has a hand in the final version. So, they each have a part they think best captures the mood of the song and should be the title.

For as much as they care about the initial process, Oyori's the first to drop out of the conversation, claiming that at this point they "think anything's fine, honestly." Soga follows suit, choosing to focus on sound mixing instead of titling songs. That leaves Kuroo, Alisa, and Tora - the three parts of the energetic, headstrong Nekoma-core of the band.

Their spirited debate ends up sounding more like bickering siblings than three adults having a rational discussion. More than once Oyori snickers from their spot on the floor. But they get there.

"I agree. _Moving On_ is a little too on the nose,” Alisa says.

"So we got it?" Tora claps them both on the back, knocking them both forward.

"Yea, _Closing the Wounds,_ ” Kuroo agrees with a grin.

Tora pumps his fist. "I like it. Still sounds gross and metal, but also, like, hopeful, you know?"

“I liked that line when we wrote it,” Oyori chimes in.

The final seal of approval. In a sleepy, delighted haze, Kuroo points with both hands over towards Soga. “Decided, then! Soga, put it in!”

“Already done.”

That night they end up back at Tora’s place, sprawled across his living room and listening to the EP from start to finish for the first time. There’s still minor changes to make, but it’s pretty much there. This EP is easily the best they’ve ever sounded.

After the last song plays, the room is quiet. Kuroo looks around at his friends’ faces, reading them for some sort of reaction. In their faces he sees his own thoughts reflecting back at him. They all know it. This one feels big.

 

***

 

All the ramp up in work means Kuroo texts Tsukishima less often now, but he sends a quick text when he can. The replies have been minimal, but encouraging.

 **[20:35]:** making music

Kuroo sends a picture of himself in Glory Days’ rehearsal space. He initially takes three, then sends the one where both himself and his guitars look their best.

He’s about to pocket his phone and get back to work when a message stops him.

 **Tsukishima [20:36]:** Making murder.

Kuroo puffs out a soft laugh.

Tsukishima’s not in the photo he sends, but he can see his table, notebooks and laptop organized neatly on top. Beside it lies a cup of tea. For a moment, Kuroo imagines being there, being the one who made him that cup of tea before kissing him on the top of the head and wishing him good luck with his writing.

 **[20:36]:** I’d say good luck but that seems grim.

 **Tsukishima [20:36]:** Grim is good.

The warm feelings in his gut give Kuroo a little more courage.

“Kenma--,” he calls from the squishy, old sofa he’s sitting on, “take my picture.”

“No,” comes the quick reply.

“Alisa--” he whines, jutting out his lower lip to look pitiful. “Please? It’s for love.”

“Why does she get a ‘please?’” Kenma asks, but the reply is lost once Alisa strolls over, laughing. 

She positions the phone and Kuroo appreciates the way she seems to step back and forth, moving the phone up and down to get the best angle.

He poses with his guitar, an overly dramatic smirk on his lips.

Alisa laughs harder, but says nothing. She takes several and then passes the phone back. Kuroo ignores the snide comments of his bandmates as he picks one to send.

 **[20:37]:** Nah, *this* is good.

 **Tsukishima [20:38]:** eh, it’s alright

Kuroo snorts, hunched over his phone like the lovestruck fool he is.

 **[20:38]:** you can’t show me anything better, so…

It takes a few minutes, but the reply he gets makes him laugh so hard it startles everyone in the room - except Kenma.

 **Tsukishima [20:41]:** Nailed it.

What follows is a picture of Tsukishima with his blond hair messily raked forward, the tips of his bangs covering his forehead and the top of it pointing out at odd angles. His glasses are crooked and he’s resting one hand with an exhausted look in his eyes.

Kuroo stares at the image as he types, erases, and retypes several different replies.

“Hey loverboy,” Tora calls out, “hate to interrupt, but we’ve only got, like, an hour left.”

“Alright, alright,” Kuroo waves a quick hand and his heart beats faster as he tries to think of a way to wrap things up - for now.

 **[20:41]:** HA. perfection.  
**[20:41]:** Alright, really quick before I gotta go - I know you like nooooone of the same music as me—

 **Tsukishima [20:41]:** I wouldn't say that

 **[20:42]:** it’s true, tho

 **Tsukishima [20:42]:** precisely, but I wouldn't say it.

 **[20:42]:** either way my other band is playing on Friday if you wanted to come

Kuroo manages to peel himself away from his phone. He drops it on the old sofa, face down this time, so he’s not tempted.

He doesn’t see the reply until Glory Days’ is headed out to eat or drink or do whatever each of them need to do to wind down for the evening.

 **Tsukishima [21:02]:** what time?

Another hour passes before he’s able to reply. Glory Days is packing up for the night and Kuroo moves quickly so he has enough time to check his phone before everyone is ready to leave.

 **[22:03]:** like 10ish? It’s more of a jam venue, so the bands just sort of play until they’re done

 **Tsukishima [22:03]:** sounds wonderfully… unorganized

 **[22:04]:** That’s what’s so great! Just drop in  
**[22:04]:** I’ll be free to hang before and after

 **Tsukishima [22:04]:** I still haven’t agreed to go

 **[22:04]:** minor detail  
**[22:04]:** I’ll see you there (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

 **Tsukishima [22:56]:** sure

 

***

 

At the venue, Kuroo sees Daishou first. His back is turned and next to him is, naturally, the shorter but somehow more powerful frame of Mika. Kuroo slinks closer, moving swiftly through the noisy, packed room. Daishou’s head spins a split second before Kuroo claps both of his hands hard on his shoulders. “How are the newlyweds this evening?” He asks loudly over the music.

Mika’s grin stretches wide. “Can you even call us that? It’s almost been a year now.”

Daishou twists out of Kuroo’s hold and turns so he can scowl at his bandmate.

“I’ll stop when this guy stops posting pictures of you two constantly,” Kuroo smirks.

“Can’t help that my life is better than yours.”

“Can’t help that my band is better than yours.”

“You’re in my band! If Late to the Party sucks more than Glory Days it’s ‘cause of you.”

“Debatable.”

“Hardly.”

The two of them slip into their comfortably combative patterns easily. It doesn’t matter how much time passes in between chances to see one another. They’ll exchange jabs, rile each other up. Then Kuroo will catch the way Daishou’s face instantly grows softer around the edges every time he talks to Mika. Like no time has passed at all, it’s like they’re back in their freshman year, tossed together again by proximity and circumstance. It’s a weird kind of release, being around a perfectly wonderful asshole like Daishou.

There’s no real “green room” for performers in the venue. What they do have is more like a wide hallway that goes from the bar and main floor back to behind the stage. There’s no where to sit and beneath him, Kuroo’s shoes stick to the floor. The whole place is a bit grungy, but that’s part of the appeal. The rest of Tokyo can be so clean and sterile, and then there’s pockets like this. It’s loud. It’s unorganized. It’s fun.

The band and Mika are throwing back a few pre-show beers, plus a shot of whiskey - or two, when Alisa stops by, shoving herself and her friends through the crowd like a one-woman snowplow. When she gets to Kuroo, she throws her arms around his middle, hugging him tight before backing up with a cringe across her face.

“How are you so sweaty already?” She asks.

“Should I lose the shirt?” He asks back over the sound of the band currently on stage.

“No!” Daishou shouts. He’s a few people away but he’s close enough to hear. “Leave that fucking shirt on tonight or so help me god, Kuroo. I will ruin you.”

Kuroo throws back his head and laughs as Daishou flips him off. Spurred on, he swings his arms behind him to reach for the back of his shirt and he feels one of his arms hit someone behind him. He spins, ready to apologize--

It’s Tsukishima, hand poised as though he was about to poke Kuroo’s shoulder. His lips are parted and his eyes seemed surprised. 

“You made it!” Kuroo yells. It’s the first thing that comes to his mind, so it’s the first thing he says. He holds up his beer by the neck in celebration, bits of it sloshing onto his hand.

Tsukishima’s hair looks freshly trimmed and the neck of his shirt is looser than normal so Kuroo can see a part of the crows along his upper back. He remembers that text message, _that text message_ , and feels an excited shiver down his spine.

A smirk crosses Tsukishima’s face, then his lips move forming a reply, but Kuroo can’t hear. He leans in closer, careful to hold his beer away from his body so he doesn’t spill it, and fully welcomes the little jump his heart makes when he thinks about being this close to Tsukishima again.

“I said, obviously I did.” Tsukishima repeats.

“What?”

Tsukishima pushes himself closer and lets out a sigh that Kuroo feels pass over his skin. “You said, ‘you made it,’ and I said, ‘obviously I did’ because I’m standing right here.”

“Oh! Well,” Kuroo turns his head so this time his lips are pressed near Tsukishima’s ear, “I’m glad you’re here.” He lets the honesty pour out unfiltered. It’s so much easier to do when it’s loud and he’s feeling more amped up than usual. He pulls back, standing upright, and flashes a smirk before finishing it off with a dramatic wink.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

Someone bumps into his shoulder and lingers, and Kuroo looks over to see Alisa right beside him. Her eyes are wide and her smile is sharp, knowing. Her eyes dart between the two of them and, if possible, her grin grows wider. “You came to watch him play?” She asks over the sound of the crowd.

“Something like that,” Tsukishima shouts back, his gaze on neither Alisa or Kuroo, but wandering in the space just past Kuroo’s shoulder.

But Kuroo stares. And he hopes Tsukishima can’t feel it, that it won’t make him feel awkward, but he can’t help it. Because Tsukishima is here. They talk everyday and even though Tsukishima’s music tastes clearly, very clearly, are far away from what’s currently screaming on stage, he’s here. Tsukishima’s here with a fresh haircut, a shirt that threatens to slip off his shoulder, and some tight jeans that Kuroo can’t look at for too long without his throat getting dry.

He’s going to play his heart out tonight.

 

***

 

The shirt doesn’t stay on. Daishou makes a threatening gesture between songs and Kuroo throws his head back and laughs. The definitely drunk crowd loves it.

Playing with Late to the Party is different. They don’t practice much. It’s not going anywhere big. It’s a time set aside so Daishou can scream and Kuroo can mess around with new sounds that don’t fit with Glory Days’ whole image.

So even with Daishou punching him hard in the shoulder as they walk off, he’s still talking louder, laughing harder, and feeling better than he has in days.

Mika grabs Daishou the moment his feet get off the stairs and she excitedly points out the things she noticed he changed this time while he was playing - knowledgeable and proud. Kuroo side-steps the two of them, slips his t-shirt back over his head, and looks around. There’s no Alisa anymore, but towards the end of the wide hallway near the entrance to the rest of the bar is Tsukishima. He’s leaning against a wall and his attention seems to be darting between the backroom and the bar. 

For a second those eyes land on Kuroo. He looks away quickly, back towards the bar and the stage, suddenly far more interested in the band playing now.

Kuroo sets his guitar down near his other bandmates and takes the biggest steps he can manage in between the people scattered around backstage.

He plants himself in front of Tsukishima, hands on his hips. “What’d ya think?”

He has to bite back a grin at the way Tsukishima turns his head slowly, like he’s not all that interested, like he’s definitely not standing here to talk to Kuroo. Amped up on post-show energy, this is a game he’s ready to play.

“Loud,” is Tsukishima’s only reply.

Kuroo uses the opportunity of someone walking behind him to get closer. “And?”

Tsukishima subtly raises an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

It’s not quite loud enough to warrant how closer Kuroo gets to Tsukishima’s ear, but he does it anyway. He places a firm hand on Tsukishima’s shoulder as he leans in and says, “I’ll take it.” With a grin, he stands upright again and lets his hand linger before it falls back to his side.

Tsukishima’s eye focus on his, brows slightly knitted together, and Kuroo gets the feeling he’s being analyzed under that stare. A beat passes with no words, no change in the blond’s expression. Then he picks himself up off the wall, placing himself in Kuroo’s space. Another band starts playing. Tsukishima leans in to say, “You used a different guitar tonight.”

Kuroo feels the tips of Tsukishima’s fingers dance along his forearm. “Surprised you noticed.”

“They’re different colors and I’m not an idiot, so-- “

Another person walks behind Kuroo in the tight space, pushing him against Tsukishima for a moment. It’s just a bit too abrupt to be flirtatious. Almost tripping over his own feet isn’t a good look, but he sees a chance and takes it, steadies himself unnecessarily with Tsukishima’s upper arm.

Tsukishima’s lips are so close now, and his heartbeat urges him on, _just a little bit further._

“You want to go outside?”

It takes Kuroo a moment to focus and process the question he's asked. Then he lets his tongue run quickly over his bottom lip before his smirk stretches something into a bit more delightfully wicked. He turns towards the battered back door covered in stickers and hastily scrawled notes from other bands. Tsukishima falls in step beside him and Kuroo gets a rush of nerves when he feels a hand settle on the small of his back through his thin t-shirt.

The moment the door shuts behind them, it’s quieter, leaving a ringing in Kuroo’s ears. He settles his back on the wall in the neon-lit narrow alley between the building and the karaoke place next to it. He stares at the cement wall, watching the different colors from the karaoke sign flash and fade as Tsukishima settles in next to him, their shoulders touching.

He hears Tsukishima yawn. 

“Out past your bedtime, old man?” He laughs.

Tsukishima’s voice is low. “Nothing good happens late at night.” Kuroo notices a change in his words. A sharpness has left and he likes the soft cadence that’s present now.

“Maybe you’re just missing all the good stuff.”

“Like what?”

Kuroo searches his mind for some good evidence while he forces his arm to relax, letting it bump against Tsukishima’s. “Like late-night takoyaki.”

Tsukishima puffs out an almost-laugh. “That the best you got?”

“They’re pretty perfect after exactly four to six beers.” He’s still staring forward, watching the neon lights change in a predictable pattern. He feels fingers brush against his.

“Pass.”

“Oh yea? Well what would you normally be doing right now? Asleep already?”

“No,” some of Tsukishima’s familiar bite returns. “I’d just be inside. Alone and not rupturing my eardrums.”

“Well, this is better.”

“And why’s that?”

Kuroo pushes himself off the wall and runs his fingers through his hair as he turns. “”Cause I’m excellent company.”

Kuroo watches a smirk grow on Tsukishima’s lips. There’s a spark in his eye when he says, “Pass.”

“The door’s right there. Don’t let me stop you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re locked out. There’s no handle on this side.”

Kuroo’s eyes snap to the door and, sure enough, Tsukishima’s right. He chuckles. “Well shit, I’ll go around and let you back in when—”

“Or--”

The tone of Tsukishima’s voice makes his breath catch in his throat. Their eyes meet again and Tsukishima looks back, unblinking.

“Or what?” He asks in the suddenly very small space between them, his stomach twisting together, excited and impatient as he feels the pull between them as they hold one another in an intense stare. It’s like water rushing towards a fall now -- forceful, inevitable.

Tsukishima moves first, wrapping his slender fingers around Kuroo’s waist and pulling him in. Their lips crash together and there’s no rhythm, no finesse yet but — _god he tastes good._ Kuroo angles his head and kisses back with purpose, his own hands responding to the ones digging into his sides. One slides along Tsukishima’s waist while the other reaches for his hair, gently running through the soft, short hairs of his undercut.

He parts his lips on a sigh and Tsukishima rushes in and pulls Kuroo tighter against him. For all the years that have passed between him being on the National stage and now, Tsukishima’s body is still strong with tightly corded muscle that Kuroo can feel as he slips underneath the hem of his shirt.

Kuroo breaks the kiss long enough to let his lips wander along Tsukishima’s chin and down his neck, pressing sloppy kisses along the way. He drinks in the sound of Tsukishima’s soft panting breaths in the night air. When he captures those lips again it’s with a renewed ferocity, a desire to make sure Tsukishima thinks about this later.

Tsukishima’s hands slide underneath his shirt and up his lower back and they tumble against the wall behind them, now tangled together in a way that has Kuroo’s head spinning. A moan builds in Tsukishima’s throat but doesn’t escape, not yet, and Kuroo imagines what sweet sounds he could make spill from Tsukishima’s lips if given the chance.

The door next to them opens.

Tsukishima freezes, his hands still twisted in Kuroo’s shirt, his chest still pounding against Kuroo’s. His head spins. Kuroo follows.

Daishou. Eyes wide. The door starts to close again, but it’s slow. The three of them are awkwardly trapped in a moment together until it’s shut.

Kuroo looks back at Tsukishima. The passion has passed. There’s a cold rationality back in place behind those eyes. Tsukishima starts to twist free and Kuroo lets him go, but there’s no denying two things -- one, that just happened, and two, they’re both similarly affected and breathing hard.

“I told you good things happen.” The phrase sounds perfect in his mind, but the second he says it, it feels like the just wrong thing to say.

Tsukishima’s face is unreadable, locked in an expressionless gaze. Kuroo takes a step back. Tsukishima straightens his shirt.

The colors from the sign flash across Tsukishima’s face as he seems to search Kuroo’s face for something, saying nothing.

He opens his mouth to speak, pauses before he lets the words leave. “I’m going to head out.”

“You sure?” Kuroo stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Yea.”

“You need me to let you back in?”

“No, I have everything I brought.”

He only has a few moments left to end this better. Kuroo runs through so many prepared lines that he’s used before but they don’t fit. He lands on, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“No problem.” Tsukishima pushes up from the wall and Kuroo backs up another step to give him space. Tsukishima’s still standing in front of him, but from the tone of his voice, his thoughts have already taken him miles away. He turns to exit the alley.

“See you soon, Tsukishima.”

He looks to the side, a weak smile on his lips. “Yea, see you soon.”

Kuroo waits a few minutes before he walks back to the front of the venue to get back inside, processing and stewing in everything that just happened. He must be wearing his thoughts clear as day on his face because the moment Daishou sees him again he claps a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Sorry, man. I hate your guts but I still never want to come between you and getting some.”

“It’s alright. I don’t think that’s where it was headed. I can't seem to figure out that one."

"Well," Daishou says, squeezing his shoulder, "you always were really stupid."

"Thanks, man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There probably won't be another update before Kuroo's birthday, so Happy Birthday, Kuroo! You get a quick make-out session with Tsukishima before an awkward bye. It's like a birthday cake where the candle wax is allowed to melt for too long and it gets all in the icing. Still delicious cake, but now it's a little weird.
> 
> Ha. What? I don't know! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
> 
> Thanks for still reading and (hopefully) enjoying! They've smooshed faces, but that's it. The train is still slowly chugging along.
> 
> Continued thanks to @ZeldaWonderwall for being my second set of eyes so I sweat less before posting!
> 
> Music notes ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪  
> Big soundtrack mood for that last scene is Angel Olsen's "Shut Up Kiss Me." The lyrics don't totally fit bit the mood is on point. In my head I imagine the guitars and drums building just before the chorus and the moment they start kissing you get the "shut up, kiss me, hold me tight." Aaaaah, yes. Such a good song.


	14. And worst of all, I liked it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima dies from embarrassment, is tortured by his cat, works hard to show he's grown a little, and spends some quality time with Yachi and Yamaguchi.

In the harsh light of morning, Tsukishima very much wishes he could throw himself into the sea.

He shuts off his alarm, grateful it’s a Saturday, and shoves his phone off the bed. He glares at the now empty pack of cigarettes on his bedside table. Sighing, he chooses to put another pillow on top of his head instead of getting up and facing his day.

From the sound of the cries coming from his bedside, Mister’s not pleased. Mister can wait. He deserves to simmer in the shame of his impulses for a little while longer.

 _This isn’t even the first time_ , Tsukishima curls into a ball at the center of his mattress, bringing his pillow-tent with him and crawling deeper under his blankets. Tsukishima never seeks out dating, it just happens when he can’t hold back anymore.

His past few relationships have started in a similar way. It begins with a lot of slow-moving flirtatious conversations. Then, eventually, his body remembers it’s just a skin vessel for chemicals and animal urges so he’s showing skin and pulling secretly clever, very handsome idiots on top of him outside of concert venues or any number of embarrassing things past-Tsukishima has done.

And worst of all, _I liked it._

Mister yowls from the floor right near his bed.

“Go back to sleep. I’m wallowing.” He replies, muffled behind the blankets and pillows.

Mister yowls again, louder. He repeats the sound a few times until it grows into a long, drawn out scream for food.

“Oh my god,” Tsukishima flips the top pillow off of his head. “Fine, I’ll feed you.” He starts to pull himself out of the blankets, untangling his limbs as he goes. He missteps as he tries to step on the floor, his ankle still tied up in his sheet.

Out in his kitchen, he looks down at his companion, his tormentor. “I’ll be an adult for five minutes, tops, then I’m going back to bed.” Mister curls between his legs, making the journey between the cupboard and Mister’s bowl as treacherous as ever.

In just his briefs, there’s a chill throughout the rest of his apartment. The mornings are growing cooler, so it’s easy to keep his earlier promise to himself to forget about adulting this morning. After brushing his teeth to get rid of the remainder of last night’s shame cigarettes, he winds up back in bed, tangled up in a mess of sheets and blankets.

He sighs, long and loud until all the air is out of his lungs.

 _I’m going to have to deal with this._ A decades-old guilt sinks into his bones. He sighs again, the sound morphing into a whine. _I’m not going to disappear from sheer mortification. Not again._ But for now, he sits with it. And if inklings of desire manage to creep back in, he’ll quickly snuff them out with a dose of more self-serving misery.

 

***

 

“Do something cute,” Tsukishima orders, his phone trained on Mister as the cat saunters through the living room.

Earlier, in bed, he devised a plan - go against all his instincts and text Kuroo something innocuous, innocent, totally sterile. That way he can minimize damage, but not ghost Kuroo like he, well, so often has done in the past. _Do better_ , he tells himself.

He types several good morning messages, but with the memory of how soft Kuroo’s lips actually felt still burned into his skin, even a generic _have a good saturday_ feels too sincere.

Mister is the only solution. He’s shared enough cat pictures over their short, renewed friendship that it won’t be out of place and there’s absolutely no way to misconstrue a cat picture as anything linked to the previous night’s escapades.

“Will you at least sit down and curl up or something?” Tsukishima pleads with his fluffy overlord, face pinched in a scowl. “I do everything for you. Please give me this one thing.”

Mister turns and flicks his tail in the air to punctuate his departure from the conversation.

Tsukishima follows, acutely aware of the embarrassing pit his life has momentarily become as he chases his cat into his bedroom.

His phone vibrates in his hand and his stomach drops.

 **Kuroo [10:01]:** here’s hoping the old man didn’t stay out too late last night

Tsukishima groans out loud. _Why aren’t there pause buttons on human interaction?_ Now Kuroo’s the first to say something after all that. Which means he gets to set the tone and Tsukishima’s left just responding and looking like he — _did Kuroo think I’d bail?_

No, he tells himself, I’m reading way too far into this. He squeezes his whole face together, his glasses sliding down his nose, and exhales sharply, like a reset.

Mister flops onto his back, front paws curled. Tsukishima snaps the photo and stares at it, wondering how to respond now.

He doesn’t manage to until later, but he settles on something he deems acceptable. His stomach is still churning as his brain refuses to process the night before, but he manages to send --

 **[12:31]:** I survived. Mister’s sleepy, though.

He doesn’t open the replies he gets later in the day and doesn’t respond until the next morning.

 

***

 

For the rest of the week, Tsukishima keeps his distance. There’s a delicate balance in play here. He doesn’t want to completely disappear but he also doesn’t want to acknowledge the _events._

He uses work as an excuse and it’s only a little bit of a lie. When he’s not working with Yachi, he actually is having to work more at home. One of his co-workers quit and with no plans to hire anyone else to fill the position, everyone else on the team picked up extra work. It keeps him busy and, truthfully, he’s thankful for the distraction.

“I can’t believe how close we are to the end,” Yachi says, her voice soft. Neither of them have spoken in a while. Tsukishima’s focus has been on editing while Yachi draws. They both had headphones on because the ukelele man was playing and singing from his soul, but now they’re free to have ears again.

“It feels equally too soon and not soon enough,” Tsukishima replies, tapping on his keyboard.

Yachi snickers, “Right? On the one hand, I am so ready to see the end of this insane workload, relax, and maybe even have the headspace leftover to think of something new, but I’m also so not ready to let go of this yet.”

Tsukishima understands. These characters have lived with them in some iteration since he and Yachi lived together. And while some of them, the main characters, will live on in future projects, “it won’t be the same.”

She returns to cleaning up her illustrations, her hand moving slowly over her tablet. Then she lets out a quick puff of a sigh and sets her pen on the table. At the sound Tsukishima looks up and find her eyes watching his. She chews her lips for a moment before she finally says, “Do you think we’re going to find an agent?”

Tsukishima keeps telling himself that they’ve done what they can. They did their research, found agents open to new clients in their genre. They’ve followed up an appropriate number of times, though he did have to stop Yachi from emailing again “just in case.”

But he can’t bring himself to say ‘yes.’ “We’ve done our best,” he offers.

The look on Yachi’s face he gets in response makes his heart pinch. What’s left of her smile slips off her face and her eyes drift down to the table between them. “You can do all this work and still nothing might happen at all.”

Tsukishima’s mind races through potential replies and the consequences of each. They all seem to harsh. He tries, “True, but it only takes one.”

He watches as her forehead scrunches together. Her eyes dart up from the table, she takes a quick breath in, and he knows this look. He can feel the force and speed of her speech before it even begins.

“I just can’t imagine going back to doing nothing at all. I hate work so much sometimes, not the creative part, obviously, but the stupid games I have to play to keep my ten thousand different middle-management bosses happy, but I go because it helps fund this and, honestly, working on our story keeps me going and it makes me excited to get up in the morning and the thought of this story ending makes me sad -- especially when we don’t know what’s next.

"What if nothing happens and we’ve thrown away this deal that we kind of, sort of, maybe are okay with our current platform and then no one picks us up because we seem, I don’t know, snobby or somethin? And what if we can’t work together and so we lose touch because I know how I can be with replying to texts, like you, and I really want to tell our story because I know it’s good, but no one might care, and we’ve gotten some weird feedback on the last few chapters so I know not everyone likes it all the time, and--”

Tsukishima grabs her attention, a soft smile on his lips. He says nothing but he visibly breathes in deep, nodding as she interrupts herself to mirror the gesture. She lets out the breath too quickly and he raises an eyebrow. This time she closes her eyes and breathes again. When she opens her eyes, there’s a hint of a grin on her lips and she lightly kicks him under the table. Probably for knowing better.

“We’ve done the impossible before,” he smirks. “You somehow managed our unruly asses for three consecutive years of strong teamwork, so--”

“I know.”

He draws his lips tightly together. There are words dancing around in his brain that he wants to say, but it’s hard. Things like those words feel so foreign and strange when he says them out loud -- “We’d never lose touch.”

It’s the tip of the iceberg of what he wants to say, but the rest won’t come. It’s too much like cutting himself open for the world to see to say things like _whatever happens, happens, but I’m not as scared because at least I’m doing them with you._

Yachi’s smile grows and he’s glad she understands the rest of what he won’t say. Over a decade of friendship will do that.

“And those negative comments?” He starts.

“Yea?”

“Fuck them.”

“I know,” she groans, melting back against her chair and slipping down the seat, “but I just care so much!”

“Honestly, I do, too. And those are the comments that stick with me for hours and hours after I read them, but they’re our characters. We brought them to life. We know where it’s going.”

The melted puddle of Yachi looks at him from just over the edge of the table. “Thanks, Tsukki— er, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, looks away. “I’ve known you how many years now? You can call me that. It’s fine.”

Yachi sits back up and leans forward on the table, cradling her head in her open palms and staring back at him. “Good, ‘cause it’s what I call you in my head everyday anyway.”

 

***

 

On Friday night Tsukishima readily agrees to go out to dinner with Yachi and all the other illustrators. They tend to get together at week’s end to blow off steam, and Tsukishima could definitely stand a chance to eat his pent up feelings.

Work has been beyond frustrating. Doing the same amount of work with one fewer person on the team was, of course, going to cause some issues, but Tsukishima could have dealt with everything if only everyone else hadn’t been so whiny.

 _I know it’s annoying. We all know it’s annoying_ , he would grit his teeth to hold back spiteful comments during video meetings, _but making this meeting last twenty minutes longer so you can complain isn’t helping._

He ends up talking to some spring rolls about that.

Writing has been downright frightening, too. He won’t admit it out loud to Yachi, but he assumes she’s caught on. She’s known him long enough by now that she can read him almost as well as Yamaguchi. He’d be unnerved were it not so nice to have another person he doesn’t have to speak his feelings to for them to understand.

The end of the webcomic has him second-guessing everything. Alone in his apartment, he’s been obsessing over previous chapters, wishing he had written this sentence differently, dropped this plot detail sooner, picked a different word for this reaction - over and over again because now they all start to feel like tiny errors that make the ending far more difficult to compose correctly. He has drafts, of course, and they’re fairly polished at this point, but he can’t stand the idea of looking back at that final chapter after it’s out and wishing he could just erase it from the earth. He loves these characters. He wants to do it right.

He talks to a large bowl of pho about that.

Then there’s everything with Kuroo. The former river of texts has decreased to a trickle. His phone is no longer buzzing every few hours with a random thought or a quick hello. He tries not to feel like something’s missing, but it’s hard when he keeps habitually checking his phone. It’s his fault. He purposefully waited longer and longer to reply in between texts. He created the distance.

He’s frustrated. With himself.

Tsukishima understands that he might be marginally less clever where emotions are concerned, but he’s no idiot. He knows he’s attracted to Kuroo, but _attraction doesn’t necessarily equal a relationship_ , he reminds himself throughout the week.

Because there’s another side to his proclivity to finally give in and make-out with the object of his chemical attraction. A darker side. A potentially meaner side. After that initial rush, he fights it. Once he gets past the extreme embarrassment, which does take a few days, Tsukishima likes to strategize, likes to read the situation. He needs time to step back, reorganize. And he refuses to string someone along if he’s not sure where he stands. But he knows how he comes across. Flaky. Impulsive. Callous.

His last few relationships have only started because the other person decided to build that bridge while he sat and stewed inside his own brain.

_But it always ends in such a mess, _his brain keeps reminding him. His last break up was anything but mutual. It was a painful mess, a harsh separation once Tsukishima decided permanent long distance could not, would not be the way he lived life. It still stings and sits there in the back of his mind.__

But he’s growing, he tells himself, he’s trying to do better. The past doesn't decide everything. Nothing is set in stone and this _thing_ with Kuroo isn't even properly a _thing_ yet so it's fine.

So he tries. Even if it takes him hours, even if he waits until the next day, he texts Kuroo back. He attempts to make up for the lack of responses by making the texts he does send a bit longer. He puts in thought, he really does.

And this is what leaves him feeling the most drained at the end of the week.

To address these feelings, he gets the group to go to the ice cream place down the street so he can talk to three scoops of rich, creamy ice cream and a slice of cake about all that.

He buys a pint to take home, too.

Which is how he winds up back at his place with Yachi and Yamaguchi in tow, sharing a pint of white chocolate strawberry rose ice cream. He knows it’s overpriced, hipster nonsense. He doesn’t care. It’s delicious.

The three of them squeeze together on fold-out chairs on his tiny balcony. It’s narrow and Tsukishima’s knees press against the railing. He only ever comes out here for occasional smoke breaks. It’s not exactly meant for entertaining.

Also it’s getting cold. Yachi’s in the middle, but the other half of Tsukishima’s body is left unguarded to suffer the elements.

“Why are we outside again?” He scrunches up his face as another chilly breeze rushes past them.

“Because the sky is super clear tonight and I thought it looked nice,” Yamaguchi replies from the other side of Yachi, spooning more ice cream into his mouth.

She nods, “you can actually see some stars. When’s the last time you remember being able to do that in Tokyo?” Her eyes are drawn to the space above the skyline, her ice cream all but forgotten as she smiles softly and takes it in.

“Exactly,” Yamaguchi replies. “I definitely miss that about Miyagi.”

“Yea, it wasn’t the worst.” Tsukishima’s eyes drift up to the night sky. He’s out in the suburbs, but Tokyo is still Tokyo. Sometimes he misses the stillness of home. The quiet never did seem to abandon him with his thoughts like the constant din of city noise does. No, the quiet was a comfort.

The three of them catch up on their weeks, laughing through Yamaguchi’s stories about second graders. They linger on the tiny balcony even once the ice cream is done. Tsukishima goes back inside to grab blankets, resigned to the fact that they’re apparently spending their evening outside on hard plastic chairs with a brisk, autumn breeze instead of warm and sitting on a comfy, albeit old, couch.

Even though he hates feeling any sort of cold, Tsukishima has to admit there’s something pleasant about being smooshed together and talking as they look out over the lights. It helps that he’s made passable cocktails from the gin he can afford and the flat tonic water he had in his fridge. He did have a fresh lemon, though. The drink doesn’t fit the weather at all, but it tastes good, and the three of them nurse their drinks as time comfortably passes.

“I can’t wait to see how you two tie everything up. I mean, after that last chapter I--” Yamaguchi dips his head back against the edge of his plastic chair and sighs, “it was so good. Just -- just how much she’s grown since the beginning. I’m in love.”

Tsukishima feels heat creeping up his neck and he’s glad no one can see his blush. Though, knowing Yamaguchi, his best friend is already aware it’s there. Tsukishima’s never been one to accept sincere compliments easily.

“I’m so glad.” Yachi says, and Tsukishima feels her shift beside him, then her head is resting against his upper arm. “We’re at such a weird point and, I don’t think I’m alone in saying that we’re overthinking all the little details now.”

Tsukishima responds with a grunt.

“See? Exactly. It’s good to know we’re, I don’t know, telling some cohesive story that pulls the reader along. Knowing you like the characters?” Yachi happily sighs, “That’s, like, everything.”

“Yamaguchi’s biased,” Tsukishima adds, grinning.

“Obviously I am,” his friend retorts, “but even if I didn’t love you both I’d still enjoy the story. It’s that good.”

Tsukishima groans through his smile.

“Whine all you want,” Yamaguchi says, “I will always know you as that sour-faced, sweet little boy that saved me from bullies and had notebooks filled with stories about dragons.”

“Dragons?” Yachi spits, her body lurching forward. Her head spins to face Tsukishima in the dim lighting. “You? Little you wrote about dragons?”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “They’re basically dinosaurs. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Yachi smiles wide and settles back into her spot. “Oh. Yea. It’s a big deal. Imagining a tiny Tsukki writing fantasy stories is giving me life right now.”

“I didn’t write about them forever.” Tsukishima tries to save face.

“No, you later moved on, but you were always writing something, even if it was short.” Yamaguchi adds.

“Salty Tsukki. Secretly a sensitive writer all along.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he says when they both start giggling. “I’ll lock you both out here.”

Mercifully the conversation steers away from Tsukishima’s writing past and circles back to their current lives. Yachi whines her way through a story about visiting home and her mother hounding her over needing to either have a higher paying job or “just get married already and be done with it if you’re fine with mediocrity.”

Tsukishima’s blood boils as he hears that final comment and he wonders if it’s too late to write another murder into the story. He’ll save it. They can metaphorically stab Yachi’s mother later over that. Yachi is anything but mediocre.

Yamaguchi reads the mood, like he always can, and takes the conversation back to lighter territory. He has a few new dating stories, though none as ridiculous as the now-infamous puppet guy. “Joke’s on us, I guess,” Yamaguchi says, “because we’re still talking about him.”

“So Tadashi-kun,” Yachi sing-songs, her tone teasing, “still single like the rest of us or--?”

Tsukishima feels himself tense.

Yamaguchi chuckles, “still decidedly unattached. Unless that 2nd grader I told you about -- the one that keeps drawing pictures of me - unless she’s got other ideas for when she’s grown up, as far as I know I’m single.”

“She’s got a big ol’ crush on her Yamaguchi-sensei,” Tsukishima teases.

“Not the first time.” Tsukishima can hear the smile in Yamaguchi’s voice even if he can’t see it. “I’m very adorable.”

Yachi slides down into her chair, pulling the blanket down with her. “I kind of wish I could just figure something out with someone I already know. Like maybe I could flip a switch on friend or someone from back home and then, poof!” She shoots her hands forward, rocking her chair. “All settled down with a puppy and a good apartment and no one’s trying any funny business.”

“Someone you already knew, huh?” Yamaguchi smirks from the other side of the friend-pile and Tsukishima wants to flick him with his sharp, bony fingers like he used to when they were kids. “What do you think about that idea, Tsukki?”

Yachi must sense the change in tone, because her head turns, glancing between them. “What am I missing?”

Tsukishima simply replies, “It’s not that much better.”

“Oh,” Yachi sounds excited, “now I know I’m missing something good. By the laws of friendship, you have to tell me.”

 

Tsukishima stares down into the bottom of his now empty glass. He lets go of a grumbling sort of whine and sits up in his chair, then leans forward so his forearms are on his thighs and he can’t see his friends, just the bright expanse of the city beyond his balcony.

Starting at the tattoo shop, he tells Yachi everything.

Meeting again at the shop. Going to that first show and getting drinks after. Learning about Kuroo now and talking, talking, so much sharing about their story.

As he gets lost in his train of thought, he can picture that night so clearly - exactly how Kuroo looked, the dark warmth of the whiskey, the quiet din of the other voices in the bar, and his own heartbeat deciding to race anytime Kuroo looked him right in the eyes.

Yachi stirs beside him and he remembers himself, where he is, and continues. From there it’s just texts and that little cafe jaunt, so it’s decidedly less salacious. Until --

“And you can wipe that smug grin off your face, Yamaguchi, because you don’t know what happened last night.”

Then he shares that, too, his chest and cheeks warming with more than just embarrassment this time.

 

***

 

It’s getting late. Yachi and Yamaguchi both went home a while ago and Tsukishima wants to be in bed asleep. Instead he’s back on his couch re-reading previously published chapters of their story so he can be double, triple sure that they haven’t left any loose ends that need tying up before the final chapter.

He’s so engrossed in reading on his phone that when it vibrates in his hand with an incoming message he’s startled and drops it on his chest.

Swearing at himself, he picks it up and his breath catches when he sees the same: _Kuroo (1)._

He doesn’t even have time to unlock his phone before the messages keep pouring in.

_Kuroo (2)_  
_Kuroo (3)_  
_Kuroo (4)_

His lips stretch into a small grin, remembering Kuroo’s ludacris stream of consciousness texts about whatever. Tsukishima hasn’t gotten one all week.

He opens the text and his whole body tenses the moment he starts reading.

 **Kuroo [1:48]:** I hop i didnt make you mad or something this week and that youd tell me if i did but i just want you to know that sometimes friends can make out with other friends and it is OKAAAAYYYYY  
**Kuroo [1:48]:** cause i wonder if that is why we didnt wtalk much this week you know caus we had A MOMENT last weekend but its ALL GOOOOOD on my end so  
**Kuroo [1:48]:** also hi hello hooooooooopeeeee you haf a gooood daaaayyyy  
**Kuroo [1:48]:** I did. Bokuto and Akaashi are HEREEEEE they came to my show s did some peple from the shop too so its a party but itd be more fun withh you here too

The man is cleary drunk, or well on his way towards becoming drunk.

So much for ignoring what happened. Tsukishima stares at the words on his screen. He cringes from the aftershocks of last weekend’s embarrassment, but also from the way he can so clearly imagine Kuroo’s booming yell, even a cackle or two.

But not in those last few words. In his mind those sound soft, just like in the noisy club when Kuroo would lean in and whisper words against his ear.

He reads that phrase over and over.

He finds that despite his tense shoulders and his scrunched up face, beneath all that, he’s relieved.

And then his phone rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (American) Thanksgiving! I am ever so thankful for each and every one of you, dear readers. You make writing silly words about volleyball boys so fun and rewarding.  
> °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
> 
> And a continued thanks to @ZeldaWonderwall for leaving me the kinds of comments in Docs that I need to keep going!
> 
> Writing aged-up characters always comes with this delicate balance between canon personality traits and the way I imagine those traits would evolve over the years. After all, they're not going to become entirely different people, but they wouldn't remain static either. And Tsukishima grows so so so so SO MUCH in canon (aaaaaaa just thinking about it makes my heart feel all gooey) that I just imagine that, of course while he'd have similar hang ups throughout life, he would continue to grow and change. Oh, Tsukishima. We love you.
> 
> Anywho, did you remember Bokuto and Akaashi were coming? Because they're here now. Oh yes. And they'll be in the next chapter. Yayyyy!
> 
> Also, the way my outline is now, we're still 10+ chapters away the end, so there's still plenty of stuff to come.  
> What's in store for krtsk? (∗´꒳`) I dunno... *wink wonk*


	15. It's simple.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We rewind in time just a bit to get Kuroo's POV after the spontaneous make out and leading up to the phone call Tsukishima got at the end of the previous chapter. Plus, Bokuto and Akaashi are here!

At the end of a long day full of clients at the shop, Kuroo takes his time methodically cleaning his station. Work with the band is picking up exponentially after releasing their EP on a few steaming apps and ever since their little mouth-on-mouth alley action three days ago, Tsukishima’s been backing away from their usual text chats. He hasn’t disappeared but it’s definitely different. And confusing.

So he’s thankful for the comfort in the ritual of cleaning his tools and setting everything exactly in its place. He gets into a different headspace when he’s been tattooing all day. He likens it to what some clients talk about, the “zone” they get into when they’re sitting in his chair. It’s like a kind of meditation. He’s so solely focused on his work that, by the end of the day, he feels tired, absolutely mentally exhausted from focusing, but calm. It’s a wholly different feeling than the satisfaction he gets from playing shows, but it’s satisfying in its own right. _Everything back in its perfect place._

“You got any shows coming up?” Ibuki’s voice calls from the doorway in between the studio and the front room.

Kuroo startles. He forgot she was still here. “Always,” he replies.

She pauses for a moment, expectant, before adding, “want to tell me when or just be weird about it?”

Kuroo laughs and closes the top drawer of his work station. “Got one on Friday at a good venue. You know that big basement place where you saw me play this summer?” He looks up to find her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her outfit that day is less intimidating than most. Far less metal than usual, but even with her tiny frame Kuroo’s fairly sure she could still kick his ass. He’s never tried. He never will.

“That bar with bad beer but good cocktails?”

“Yep, that’s the one. Starts at 8. I’ll be on around 9.”

“Cover charge?”

“Nah,” he waves a dismissive hand, “this is just one of our more regular gigs. It’s a bar that happens to have bands, like most of our shows, not like a proper _headlining_ show or anything.

“Cool. I might come by.”

“No art shows this weekend?”

“No,” she sighs heavily, “my little fifteen minutes of can-I-even-call-it-that fame on the Tokyo art scene seems to have disappeared.”

“It’ll pick up again.”

“Oh yea, and how would you know that?”

“Because you’re good. And you make cool shit.”

“Shut up,” she sneers, but he can’t miss the way her cheeks betray the fact that she’s holding back a smile. “I don’t have anything better to do, so I might as well make some _cool shit_.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Yours will pick up, too,” she adds. Kuroo watches her arms uncross and dangle loose by her sides. She’s staring past Kuroo to the art on the wall above him. “Glory Days will have a headline show.” She clicks her tongue like she’s annoyed herself with her own level of sincerity. “Your band’s not bad at all, even if the guitarist is tough to look at.”

Kuroo throws a wadded up paper towel at her.

“Rude. But thanks. You’re lucky I’m used to your particular brand of compliments.” He closes his last drawer and stretches his arms high when he finally stands up for the first time in a while.

“You’re welcome. But really, though, didn’t you say shit was picking up?”

“You remember my friend Kenma? He’s been playing parts of our new EP during his streams. Combine that with the fact that he’s our social media manager and, yea, things are picking up steam, it looks like.”

“Plus the radio,” Ibuki adds.

Kuroo smiles softly, feeling a warmth in his chest. “Plus the radio,” he repeats. It might only be a weekly feature on Sunday evenings, but the same station that played them in the middle of the night is now regularly including Glory Days in their local artist showcase.

Ibuki’s tone shifts. “Is blondie going to be there?”

“Who?” he asks, suddenly very interested in his work bench again. He knows exactly who she means. Nakayama and Ibuki won’t let more than a few days go by before they ask Kuroo how he’s progressing with the man that made him stutter the word _awesome_ like a broken robot. They’ve got practiced impressions of the whole scene. Kuroo often wonders how he ended up gaining two work-sisters later in life who bond over tormenting him and never letting him forget how _painstakingly_ slowly things are going with Tsukishima.

“You know, the one that made you,” she rocks awkwardly on her feet, stuttering out nonsense words with a dumb grin on her face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he stares back, a grin of his own challenging hers.

She takes a few steps closer, her heavy boots landing with a thud each time. She wiggles the fingers on one hand, reaching out towards him. “Fine, but when I steal your phone when you’re not looking I’ll get the full story.”

He snatches his phone from his work station and pockets it. “You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

A deadly smirk crosses her lips, made more intense by the dark-red lipstick she’s wearing. “That can be arranged.”

 

***

 

 **Tsukishima [19:09]:** Thanks for sending all those tattoo portfolios you saw yesterday. It’s always so impressive to see what people can accomplish. Makes me think about my next one. Were you at some sort of meet-up? How’d you get to see so many people’s work?

 **[19:43]:** Yea, I went with the other junior artist on staff to a seminar-type thing that the shop helped pay for. Learned some updates to some techniques, some new tools  
**[19:43]:** Mostly it was just wicked to see other people’s art  
**[19:43]:** I got some kind feedback, but mostly I was just like fuuuuuuuuuu- everyone’s so much better than meeeeeeeeeeeeeee

 **Tsukishima [22:13]:** I’d like to see your portfolio sometime.

Kuroo reads the text the moment it arrives. He’s draped on his couch, collapsed after another long day, his head hanging off the cushions, and smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks.

 _I was worried for nothing_ , he tells himself over and over while he thinks about what to write back, _he’s just busy._

 

***

 

“Oh my god, everything still tastes exactly the same,” Bokuto sighs happily, throwing his head back before sitting back up with a huge grin etched on his face. “This place hasn’t changed at all.”

“It hasn’t been _that_ long since you two moved.” Kuroo shoots him a look, throwing a rolled-up ball of straw paper at him.

Bokuto flicks it away before it can hit his face, laughing much louder than anyone, truly _anyone_ , else in the bar. It’s a good thing the staff remembers them. _Bokuto’s hard to forget._

Akaashi smiles softly as his head comes to rest on Bokuto’s shoulder, his eyes closing just for a moment. Even in the dim lighting, Kuroo can see the faint red blush on his cheeks and he knows his own face can’t look all that much different right now. He has no idea what time it is, just that the show ended a while ago and they’ve been eating and drinking their way through this part of the city until they ended up at the old bar they basically lived at while he and Akaashi were at the same college.

Bokuto moves his head and snuggles into Akaashi’s hair before placing a kiss on the top of his head.

Kuroo fake gags. “Stop it, you two. Right in front of my beer?” It’s nothing new and, honestly, he thinks it's sweet but he’s been complaining about it out loud for so long, he’s not about to stop the game now.

He’s been subjected to Bokuto and Akaashi’s particular brand of constant displays of affection since they started dating years ago. Oh, they’ll keep it together out on sidewalks or at a busy train station, but the moment they’re somewhere where they feel comfortable? All touching, all the time, like they’re glued together the same way they were back in high school. 

“You know we’re adorable,” Akaashi smirks, sliding his shoulder down so he can rest more comfortably against Bokuto.

“A proven fact,” Bokuto lifts his hand and points authoritatively, “scientifically proven that Keiji and I are the cutest couple.”

Sitting up again, Bokuto reaches to ruffle Akaahi’s perfect hair, making it stick up at odd angles before Akaashi smooths it back down, scrunching his face up at Bokuto in mock annoyance.

The three of them laugh, just like they’ve been doing all evening, and Kuroo can’t help but feel overjoyed and incredibly sad at the same time. With these two, it’s so easy to slip back into old comfortable habits, like they still live in that small, old apartment down the street from Kuroo’s equally small, old apartment. But they don’t. And even though they’re here in front of him now, his heart already aches at the thought of them leaving again.

It’s so selfish, he knows, but if he could pick he’d make sure all his favorite people could be around him all the time.

“I think you’re confusing cute with obnoxious,” he gestures towards Bokuto, “at least for half of you.”

“No way. ‘Kaashi, I’m cute right?”

Akaashi nods, now leaning sleepily on his hand with his elbow propped up on the table.

“See!”

“Biased source. He’s always thought you were cute.”

Akaashi’s smile grows and he turns to look at Bokuto, “since the first day I saw him.”

Bokuto’s grin grows wide and he looks back at Akaashi, face all dopey and soft. Kuroo rolls his eyes and sighs.

Then Bokuto freezes, his eyes stare off into the distance, and his mouth hangs open just a little. _Well, Bokuto has a thought_ , Kuroo chuckles to himself.

Slowly Bokuto turns to look at Kuroo, his eyes meeting his in a suddenly intense stare. He says nothing.

After a few moments, Kuroo laughs louder, “Bo, what gives? Did you get stuck?”

Bokuto’s mouth opens, then shuts again. His eyes widen and he turns to give a questioning glance to Akaashi.

Staring back, Akaashi slowly shakes his head ‘no’ and Bokuto’s expression changes in a silent protest. Back and forth, they share two sides of a soundless conversation until Kuroo can’t take it anymore.

“What is it?”

“Okay, two things--” Bokuto starts.

“But one is going to wait until later and the other, for the record, I don’t think now is the time either but--”

“But I gotta know.” Bokuto returns to staring at Kuroo. “You still talking to Tsukishima?”

Bokuto looks so hopeful. Akaashi’s face slips into a worried, sympathetic half-smile.

“Yea, I am,” Kuroo answers simply, even though the reality is a little less simple to figure out.

“I told you it would be okay,” Boktuo tells Akaashi before turning his attention back to Kuroo. “So, any updates? The last thing you told us was about that hot alley action after your show.”

Kuroo folds his elbows onto the table and slouches forward, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s kind of it. Not a whole lot since then.” He sees Bokuto’s smile falter and he wants so badly for this to work out, if only because it’s clear Bokuto has been so invested in this whole ‘high school sweetheart’ thing working out for Kuroo, too. “He’s just been busy. It’s fine,” he reassures.

Bokuto’s smile still slips sideways. “Aw, well okay. I was just hoping--”

“We both are,” Akaashi adds, placing his hand on top of Bokuto’s on the table and lacing their fingers together, “but whatever happens is fine. Only you know what’s best for you. Right, Kou?”

Bokuto nods quickly, but it’s clear he’s still holding on to his optimistic vision of Kuroo’s future.

“He texted me earlier. We’re still talking. It’s just--” Kuroo pinches his lips together, trying to best summarize his weird mixture of feelings, “taking shape slowly. Like, really slowly. And I don’t know if it’s turning into just a friendship again or something else.”

“Dude, you kissed!”

Kuroo laughs softly, wishing he could run head first into love and take things at face value like Bokuto. “And then he kind of backed off a bit since then, so,” he sits back against the booth, “I don’t know.”

“Good things can take time,” Akaashi says.

Kuroo grins. “You two sure did.”

Akaashi’s eyes widen and one eyebrow raises on his forehead. His soft and slurred speech turns sharp and clear as he sits upright. “It did not. Once I overcame my hero worship and realized I had a crush on my star of an ace, it was only three days before I confessed and immediately put my mouth on his mouth.”

Bokuto nods enthusiastically. “I don’t know about the first part of that, but he’s right. There was, like, two minutes between Akaashi telling me how he feels and us kissin’ behind a tree on our walk home.”

“So I should just tell Tsukishima how I feel and then kiss him behind a tree?”

“Worked for us,” Akaashi smirks.

Kuroo whines, slipping down until his head hovers just above the table while his hands grip into his hair. “What if I don’t know exactly how I feel?”

“Kuroo, man, and I mean this with all due respect,” he feels Bokuto’s heavy hand come down on his shoulder, “that is some bullshit.”

The laughter returns, bringing a tear to Kuroo’s eyes as he laughs hard enough to release whatever leftover pent-up tension he had about the whole situation. Maybe it is just that simple. He can dream.

They order more of Bokuto’s favorite fried chicken to continuously soak up the booze they’re still steadily pouring into their systems, and the laughter gets louder, the conversations more ridiculous as time passes.

“--don’t you remember the fun we had? We should definitely go camping again. Like soon!” Bokuto yells, slapping his hand on the wood table.

“Absolutely not,” Akaashi raises an eyebrow, “I don’t need another phone call at four in the morning to come and find you two because you’re lost and, I quote, ‘there’s a monster in the woods.’”

Kuroo’s face turns serious but he’s choking back a laugh, “We were being hunted.”

Bokuto’s expression turns serious to match Kuroo’s, but he doesn’t seem like he’s laughing. “You weren’t there, babe. There was somethin’ in those woods.”

“Even more reason to not go back then. I don’t need a Big Foot taking out my fia--” Akaashi’s lips draw up into a tight line and he jerks his head to stare at Bokuto. Kuroo watches the two of them cycle through another silent conversation. After a lot of eyebrow raising, motioning at Kuroo, and checking the time, Akaashi speaks again. “We didn’t want to tell you at the start because we just wanted to hang out and not have it be all about -- _this_ \-- but--”

“We’re gonna get married!” Bokuto yells, and this time Kuroo doesn’t care at all about how much louder his friend is than the rest of the bar.

He feels warmth exploding in his chest. He stutters, “When? I mean, what-- yea, of course, you already are, but - yay, I’m so glad, I--” he starts to stand to reach across the table to hug them like his arms want to do immediately, but all he manages to do is jostle the table and everything on it. The three of them chuckle through saving all their drinks with huge smiles on their faces.

Akaashi’s voice is light, happy, once things settle again. “It’s not anytime soon but--”

Kuroo sits back down, saving his hugs for the moment, the literal moment, they all stand back up. _I’m gonna hug them so hard._

“I took Keiji on a little day trip, you know, ‘cause we’ve both been so busy--” Bokuto launches right into the story, “--just up into the mountains because some of the leaves were starting to change and I know he likes to get the good apples, maybe some apple butter and cider and--”

“So we stopped the car on one of those little lookout spots,” Akaashi guides the story to the next step, his smile soft but reaching all the way up to make his eyes glisten just a little.

“Yea and there was a trail, so I grabbed his hand and we started walking up and, Kuroo, bro, man, it was freaking gorgeous,” Bokuto says excitedly, his hands moving to bring parts of the story to life. “All of a sudden the trees opened and you could see everything. So I turn to say something awesome to Keiji but I’m lookin’ at him, and he’s just staring off into the distance, lookin’ at the view, and I’m like -- damn--”

Akaashi’s eyes are glued on Bokuto’s and Kuroo’s listening to every word but he’s also taking in the sight of two of his best friends being this happy. His chest feels like it’s going to burst and right here, in this smoky little bar where so many of their dumbest and best conversations happened in the past, everything is perfectly wonderful in the world.

“And I don’t have a ring or a plan or nothing, but I take both his hands and I get down on one knee even though it’s all rocky and stuff and I ask him--”

Akaashi interrupts, his voice dreamy and soft, “Do you want to be with me forever?”

“Yep, just like that,” Bokuto beams.

“So, of course I said ‘yes,’ because,” Akaashi slides in the booth so his shoulder bumps Bokuto’s, “how could I not?”

Kuroo listens as two of his favorite people go back and forth, sharing their own memories of the day, from the happy tears to the celebratory cider later on. Bokuto shares that he wishes they had rings. Akaashi reminds him that it’s not important, that they know what they mean to one another. That doesn’t stop Bokuto from insisting that he’s going to save up enough to get them both something nice for the actual day.

“It’s just a small ceremony at my aunt’s home down in Kyoto. They have a beautiful backyard--”

“And they’re rich and super nice.”

Akaashi laughs softly, “yes, they certainly own a nicer home than our apartment and they love Kou, too, so--”

“We don’t know when it’ll be yet, but,” Bokuto’s drumming his hands on the table, shifting in his seat, “will you be my best man? Be up there with me and make all the good speeches?”

While Kuroo’s heart both melts and explodes at the same time, Akaashi adds with a grin, “we might have bickered over who got you as their ‘best man,’ but Kou quickly won that argument.”

When he finally finds the words to respond to Bokuto’s huge smile, Kuroo simply says, “I’d be so freaking honored. You have no idea.”

Another round of drinks is ordered, another round of Bokuto’s favorite bar foods. The owner sneaked a peek of the whole thing while she bustled around, busy as ever, and slips them some of her homemade off-the-menu favorites to celebrate.

It gets late and no one cares. Kuroo feels warm and wonderful from his fingers to his toes and he knows that only a small percentage of that is to be blamed on the alcohol. He feels like he’s buzzing, but it’s not that busy sort of feeling that compels him to take on new projects and do way too much. He can’t find the right word, but looking at Bokuto and Akaashi, everything just suddenly feels so much more promising and possible.

“I gotta make a call,” he slurs through his words, slowly standing. He moves to go outside, but not before remembering to make good on his hugs from earlier, awkwardly squeezing them both way too hard around whatever body parts he can reach by leaning in to their side of the booth.

 _No plan or nothing, just like Bokuto. Stop making it hard_ , he tells himself when the cool night air fills his lungs, _it’s simple._

 

***

 

“Hi Tsukki!” He shouts into his phone, breaking the relative quiet around him in the night air. There’s only a few other people sauntering down the street this late, people dipping in and out of other bars in this tucked away corner of the city.

“Hey,” comes a hesitant reply on the other end.

Already prepared, Kuroo barrells forward with what he called to say, his words slurring even as he tries very, very hard to sound not drunk. “So, sometimes things seem confusing but they’re actually not. So, okay, so,” he shakes his head, gathering the words that seem to be flying away from him.

He remembers what he wants to say and speaks as fast as he can, worried that he’ll lose them again. “Sometimes friends just make out, yea? And it’s like totally okay. They can still be friends. Or more than that. Or not. Because, like, so I need to tell you about this one time. Can I tell you about this one time?” He remembers to ask first because it sounds polite. He mentally pats himself on the back for doing such a good job even while wildly drunk.

“Sure?”

“Okay, okay, so back in high school, right? My third year, Kenma’s second. We’re hanging out at his house playing Smash Brothers, I remember because I picked Kirby and I was really mad that Kenma was beating me even though I was doing a good job with Kirby. Anyway, I’m right in the zone, right? And Kenma pauses the game, which is, like, not a thing Kenma does. So I’m stunned and then he has the audacity, the audacity,” he says louder, proud of his use of a large word in this moment, “to lean over and kiss me. It was all dry and weird and then he darts out his tongue and I’m just sitting there, confused as fuck because, what is even happening and also where did he learn that?”

Kuroo takes a deep breath, wondering why he’s breathing so hard right now. “Then he sits back in his spot, just says, ‘nah,’ and then unpauses the game. So naturally I’m like, no way, pause the game. What the hell just happened? Turns out he needed to figure out some things with himself and with our relationship and the best way he thought of to do that was to just smash our faces together. Which, whatever, clearly we’re best friends and that’s it, but like, why’d he have to say, ‘nah?’ That shit still stings,” he cackles loudly and catches his breath again.

“So I needed to tell you that so you knew everything was okay and we can still be friends or whatever because I like talking to you.”

When he finally stops, he’s puzzled by the sound he hears on the other end. It sounds like Tsukishima’s out of breath, too, but it’s because he’s -- laughing? Sure enough, the wheezing on the other end sounds like a laugh that he tried to contain but it burst out anyway. “Thanks, I guess?” Tsukishima manages to say though his laughter. As it winds downs, he says, “What an interesting story. I’m so glad you shared.” There’s a sarcastic tone that Kuroo chooses to ignore.

“So do you like talking to me, too?” He blurts, his fuzzy brain elated from hearing the sound of Tsukishima laugh.

“Yea, Kuroo,” Tsukishima says. His tone is sharp and clear, but the sarcasm is gone. “I like talking to you, too, especially when you’re drunk, it seems.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Kuroo replies, turning his head quickly from side to side to check. “Oh wait,” he clarifies when his eyes keep moving after his head stops, “nevermind. I’m pretty drunk.” For as thick as his tongue feels inside his mouth, he still thinks he’s doing a great job.

“So you’ll text me tomorrow?”

“Sure, Kuroo. Why not?”

“Good. I like that,” he says quickly, his words blurring together.

There’s another chuckle on the other end, “you feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling fucking fantastic,” Kuroo replies. And he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, giant thank you to my Beta, Zelda (@ZeldaWonderall on twitter), without whom I don't know when this chapter would have seen the light of day. After I re-worked the outline and figured out how _much_ more story there was to tell, it was as though my brain decided to suddenly hate everything I put into words for this and I was FROZEN. SO THANK YOU.
> 
> Second, thank you for still reading! I hope you enjoyed the update. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I swear to god it's gonna stop being a slow burn at some point. Haha. There have always been plans for some *wink wonk* action (hence the E rating I put up there ages ago), but all the juicy lead-up bits keep getting longer and more detailed. Thanks for being along for the journey!
> 
> HAPPY (almost) NEW YEAR, FRIENDS! Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ


	16. If things were going to get weird, we’re already there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima crushes hard. That's it. That's the whole chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo! My first update of the new year/DECADE is for Longshot!
> 
> Also, in this chapter I'm going to reference a hanamaru which, if you don't know, is this -- https://tinyurl.com/t3lv23l It is absolutely not an important detail in the slightest, and if this wasn't a fic I would take it out, but I wanted Yams to invoke some of my happy teaching past and so I left it in there!! It's a flower mark your teacher would give you when you do a great job. (I still put these on my students' papers here in the states.)

Tsukishima’s in bed, but all the lights are still on and he’s still far from sleep. The whole apartment is cold since the sun chose to hide away for an entire day, but Tsukishima refuses to pay for heat until he absolutely has to. So, hanging around in bed in lazy sleep clothes and covered in every blanket he owns seems like the thing to do. Mister agrees. He’s currently also under the blankets curled up in the curve of Tsukishima’s stomach.

It’s getting late and he should probably be asleep after spending his day working and then obsessively revising the last few chapters of their story, but Kuroo is in the middle of texting him a full summary of his day - like he’s done every single day since the drunken phone call because “you  _ said _ you like talking to me.”

After several days, Tsukishima can finally admit to himself that he looks forward to it.

**Kuroo [00:41]:** so I was still starving, right? The whole day was a conspiracy orchestrated to make sure I couldn’t eat  
**Kuroo [00:41]:** and I make it to Kenma’s, grouchy and hungry, and bless my little angry savior, because he still had leftovers from my dad’s on sunday and he let me devour all of it. didn’t even heat it up. no time. I was dyyyyyyyyingggggg  
**Kuroo [00:42]:** we worked on video editing with Soga for a while  
**Kuroo [00:42]:** which reminds me  
**Kuroo [00:43]:** youtu.be/LKJ87S7  
**Kuroo [00:43]:** LOOK AT IT. IT’S SO GOOD. I’m not even gonna try to be humble or anything.

Tsukishima snorts at the last message.

**[00:43]:** humble is not a word I’d use to describe you under any circumstances

**Kuroo [00:44]:** puh-lease - I am a mountain of humility  
**Kuroo [00:44]:** when you’re working with what I got, it’s tough not to flaunt it

**[00:44]:** *gagging noises*

The back and forth mirrors what’s happened every night lately. Kuroo tells him every minute detail of his day and Tsukishima makes comments along the way. Tsukishima felt weird about it the first night, but Kuroo has a talent for diving headfirst into awkward situations to the point that all he can do is go along for the ride. His recklessly bold nature is still as frustratingly charming as Tsukishima found it years ago.

It helps that Kuroo continues to willingly embarrass himself daily in their nightly messages.

And every night, Tsukishima gets closer to offering his own little bits of his day.

But not yet.

_ My days are too boring. I was in a video meeting that lasted two hours. I worked. After sitting at a computer and working all day I sat at a different computer and worked on revisions. Then you started texting me about why your stomach hurt. _

He laughs softly under his mountain of blankets, remembering Kuroo’s first message that night and how it made him laugh just before he decided to become one with his bed.

No, he didn’t ask for any of this. No, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. No, it doesn’t feel quite right yet and it still makes his stomach twist into knots if he thinks about all this for too long.

But Tsukishima can think of worse reasons to stay awake.

 

***

 

“I have to admit, I miss free Uncle Kei babysitting,” Akiteru’s voice sounds tired as he swaps back to voice chat after Emi’s had enough time to say good night to her uncle. Tsukishima can still hear her voice in the background even though she’s supposed to be staying under the covers, not constantly getting up to tell her uncle some things she forgot.

“I bet,” Tsukishima replies, just before he hears the phone jostle around in someone’s hands and Emi’s voice comes through the speaker.

“And also it was too rainy to play outside today.”

“That’s too bad, Emi-chan. It was rainy here, too.”

“Really? Did you get to go outside and play?”

“No,” Tsukishima chuckles, “I did not get to play outside,” he’s about to add another comment, but he can practically feel Akiteru’s silent desperation over the phone, “but you need to go to bed, right?”

Emi’s reply is instant. “I’m not sleepy.”

“But it’s soft under your blankets, right?”

“No.”

“Sure it is. Soft and warm and that’s where all your stuffed animals go to sleep, too.”

“They’re sleepy. I’m not.”

“Hmmm,” Tsukishima hums, sounding thoughtful, “but I wonder if they need you there to help them feel safe so they can fall asleep. You might need to go help them out.”

There’s a little more back and forth, but Tsukishima can hear the way his niece’s voice grows lower and slower as she finally begins to wind down for the night. He can hear her little feet pitter patter all the way back to her room.

Akiteru says, “finally. Bless you. I don’t know how much more of this  _ I hate sleeping _ I can take from her. Remember when she was a baby? Good god, she slept so hard.”

“You used up all your good will then.”

“The universe is punishing me now,” Akiteru laughs and even with the video chat off, Tsukishima can imagine exactly the way his brother looks right now - exhausted, but happy.

They small talk about the day, but with how often Emi calls him now, there’s little to actually discuss. So he’s more than content to eat his dinner on the couch while Akiteru fills him in on whatever cute or horrible but hilarious things his niece did that day.

But Akiteru won’t let the focus stay off him for too long. “Any news on finding an agent?”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, “I would have told you, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe? Probably not,” Akiteru laughs, “I’ve got decades of practice working very hard to pull tiny details about your life out of your vice-like grip.”

“Fair. But no. Several outright rejections behind us. A couple of ‘yes I’ll consider your work, but in three to six months,” he lets his voice trail off.

“Something will work out. I’m sure of it.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, the ‘little brother’ habit he’ll never get rid of. “And how would you know?”

“I don’t, but you don’t tend to give up on the things you care about, so I’m betting on it.”

Scrunching up his face, Tsukishima replies, “gross. That’s way too sincere for my stomach to handle when I’m trying to eat.”

“Whatever, my sweet, little Kei-chan,” Akiteru cackles on the other end. “Fine - so what’s Yamaguchi up to?”

By the time he’s through eating, he and Akiteru are wrapping up their conversation and Tsukishima can’t believe how often the two of them talk now. Sure, they lived in the same house for years, but they hardly ever  _ talked _ . Now, a few nights a week, he gets his fix of adorable Emi time and the conversations with Akiteru flow naturally afterwards.

Talking with Emi, seeing her face even when she’s miles away, always improves his mood. Talking with Aki isn’t all that bad either. Between the two of them it certainly makes doing the small mountain of dishes in his sink and going back to his current story revisions prison a bit less overwhelming.

And if he keeps checking the time while he works, it’s definitely not because he’s wondering when Kuroo will text him that night.

Tsukishima is fully aware that _he_ could text first, that perhaps it might even be a kind thing to do this many days into their new routine, but he just can’t bring himself to do it.

He falls into a productive, fairly decent work flow and gets a lot checked off his to-do list until he gets lost in a thesaurus trying to remember the right verb to describe _the thing, you know the thing_ _when you_ \-- he grunts, frustrated with himself and his inability to grab the perfect word on command.

Somewhere in the  _ let’s please stay alive  _ part of his brain, he remembers he needs to drink water, maybe stand up and stop stooping over his desk like some kind of writing gremlin.

Checking his phone out of habit, he sees a text from Yamaguchi in their group chat.

**Yamaguchi [21:52]:** oh my god it’s so late for someone whose alarm goes off at 5 but I have all this work to check so it can go home in the kids’ “home folders” tomorrow  
**Yamaguchi [21:52]:** because a parent asked about seeing their kid’s work and I haven’t sent anything home in, like, two weeks and I just want to put it all in the trash but I can’t now  
**Yamaguchi [21:52]:** I’m so good at drawing hanamarus because I’ve probably done 300+ tonight.  
**Yamaguchi [21:52]:** I regret the choices that have led me to this moment.

Below the two messages is a picture of Yamaguchi, stacks of papers surrounding him on the floor. On top of his face, he’s put a sobbing emoji.

Tsukishima grins and opens his keyboard to reply, but Yachi beats him to it first.

**Yachi [22:16]:** SAME.

She attaches a photo of her hand, dramatically curled up like it’s shrivelling after working on the drawings scattered below it. She’s added text that reads “why god why?”

Tsukishima ends up taking a picture of his desktop, the open notebooks, the numerous tabs open on his screen.

**[22:16]:** No rest for the weary.

**Yamaguchi [22:17]:** MOOD  
**Yamaguchi [22:17]:** I’m glad I can count on the both of you to be equally irresponsibly responsible with me.  
**Yamaguchi [22:18]:** ooooh, I can almost ALMOST make out some of the words on your screen Tsukki - SPOILERS

**[22:18]:** no one’s forcing you to read them

Tsukishima walks into his kitchen and grabs the glass still on the counter from earlier. He’s staring at the chat, watching the “...” to see who will reply first, when another notification flashes across the top of his screen.  


**Kuroo [22:18]:** do you want to get lunch

Tsukishima’s brain has only a handful of seconds to begin to process the request when another text flashes.

**Kuroo [22:18]:** together?

He receives another text from Yachi but Tsukishima switches to his chat with Kuroo. There on the screen he sees last night’s chat, including the string of probably too many good nights at the end, and then those two messages. 

It’s been so much easier talking through text messages. Since that one drunken phone call, their chats have been nice, even comfortable again. In-person is an entirely different beast.  _ And I am definitely not in control of myself the same way without that distance _ . He stares at the message.  _ I like having the chance to think. But-- _

Realizing he’d been chewing on his upper lip, he lets it go and sends--

**[23:19]:** like tomorrow?

The reply from Kuroo is quick. Above the chat, Tsukishima can see that Yamaguchi and Yachi are continuing their own conversation, but he keeps swiping them away.

**Kuroo [23:14]:** doesn’t have to be tomorrow  
**Kuroo [23:14]:** just sometime  
**Kuroo [23:14]:** in the near future

Tsukishima knows his workload tomorrow includes more meetings than is necessary and, additionally, _that’s too soon._ He bites his lip again and thinks.

Kuroo seems to have no such hang-ups.

**Kuroo [23:14]:** I mean, I’m free tomorrow - until about 2. First appointment is at 2  
**Kuroo [23:14]:** Slow day tomorrow  
**Kuroo [23:14]:** oh noooooooo, moneyyyyyyy, I can feel my wallet crying

Alone in his kitchen, Tsukishima snickers. He leans back against his counter, weighing his options.

**[23:15]:** I can’t do tomorrow.

His fingers feel twitchy as he quickly adds another reply.

**[23:15]:** What about the next day? I’m free around 1 for a little while.

**Kuroo [23:15]:** crap, yea no good that day  
**Kuroo [23:15]:** it’s feast or famine at the shop  
**Kuroo [23:15]:** Thursday?

Thursday is going to have a lot of social interaction already. The illustrators are hanging out, and he’ll probably join them for a drink or two after work. But maybe it’ll be like ripping off a bandage - get all of his socializing done in one day and then crawl back into his cave once it’s done.

Plus there’s two things that are undeniably true right now. First, his smile has grown since this conversation began. And second,  _ I want to say yes. _

**[23:16]:** Thursday’s good.

**Kuroo [23:16]:** mind if I get back to you about time?  
**Kuroo [23:16]:** around 1 or 2 should be good but I gotta check on some band stuff first

Tsukishima stares down at the messages in his hand before realizing suddenly that he’s still in his kitchen, that he hasn’t even managed to get a glass of water yet. He fills his glass and takes his time drinking, scanning the messages between his two friends that he’d missed. They’re both sending one another increasingly weird selfies of their current work, the adjectives to describe said working growing more melodramatic with each text.

He swipes back to Kuroo.

**[23:17]:** that’s fine. Just let me know.

So, Thursday.

He feels his face smiling wider on its own and he’s glad only Mister is around to witness it.

Back in the group chat, he snaps a quick picture of Mister curled around his feet and looking up at him.

**[23:17]:** Mister says you two are being ridiculous.

 

***

 

Mid-morning on Thursday, Kuroo texts Tsukishima to tell him to “wear comfortable clothes.”

Tsukishima continues working, determined to finish what he needs to before lunch, but he can’t stop obsessively wondering  _ why, oh god why, do I need to be comfortable for lunch? _

At 12:30 there’s a pile of clothes on Tsukishima’s bed that Mister will no doubt cover in fur while he’s gone, but Tsukishima’s managed to make a somewhat acceptable outfit that balances  _ comfortable _ with  _ something acceptable to wear around someone I, due to a lack of better judgement, find attractive _ .

He’s settled on a pair of black joggers, a decent t-shirt - nice but not too nice, fits him well, and a track jacket that Yachi once told him make him look “rather handsome.” He thinks it’s the color because when he takes one final look in his mirror, he notes that the whole outfit looks remarkably similar to what he wore in his Karasuno days.

And his hair is fine. _It’s fine,_ he barks at himself as he runs his fingers through the soft tips on top one more time.

He has one final moment of panic where he can’t decide if harkening back to high school is the correct move to make in hanging out with Kuroo, but as he grabs his keys and heads out, he decides it’s fine. Maybe even good. And he is absolutely not changing clothes any more times than he already has.   


 

***   


 

Tsukishima scans the crowd at the train station where Kuroo said he’d meet him. As soon as he catches a glimpse of that messy black hair, his stomach starts to twist in a not entirely awful way. He weaves through the small group of people, finds a break in between, and --

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Under one arm, held against his side, Kuroo’s got a volleyball.

Kuroo shrugs, a grin on his face. “You can call me an old fart, but--”

“Old fart.” Tsukishima stands in front of him, eyebrow raised.

“But,” Kuroo says louder, “I woke up feeling nostalgic. Now come on, the net at the park was open five minutes ago and I don’t want anyone to take it.”

And just like that, Tsukishima’s quickly falling in step behind Kuroo, caught in the mental whiplash of going from getting lunch to playing volleyball. There’s something about the way Kuroo carries himself that, once in a while, makes Tsukishima’s overthinking brain malfunction and he’s left to enjoy the moment.

He tries to put his finger on what it is as Kuroo chats about his morning, sounding like his late-night day summaries. There’s something in the way that he just admits to being nostalgic. Tells Tsukishima to wear comfortable clothes and makes something like this happen.

_ It’s like, I know he has embarrassing or unsure moments, I’ve seen them, but I don’t know, it’s as though he simply chooses not to think about them and just runs right through to the other side _ .

“--and anyway, I woke up stiff and was about to go work out this morning to get out all the kinks when I thought, wait, hold up, I’m going to lunch with a former athlete. We can have some fun.”

“Who says I’m a former athlete?” Tsukshima smirks.

Kuroo turns his head, slows his pace. “What? You still play?”

“Sometimes,” Tsukishima says, losing some of the bite in his voice when he meets Kuroo’s eyes directly for the first time in a while.

“I didn’t expect that from you,” Kuroo gives a lopsided, surprised smile, “even better, then.”

Tsukishima looks forward again, taking bigger steps, “Yea, sometimes I go play with Yamaguchi. He’s on a neighborhood team with some of the teachers at his school.”

“That’s awesome. I haven’t played regularly since my college team.”

“Same, except,” and Tsukishima feels his anticipation building before he adds, “I didn’t play on my college team. I played semi-pro.”

Kuroo stops mid-stride, “ah shit, really? Look at you.”

Tsukishima’s smirk is firmly painted on his face now, proud to have done better. In a day of nostalgia, apparently, he enjoys the once-familiar game of middle blocker one upmanship. “For a couple of years when I was still in school and one year after. Up in Sendai.”

He relishes in the surprised gawk on Kuroo’s face, but watches it twist back into a self-satisfied smirk. “Ah, well,” Kuroo stretches, tossing the ball up in the air and catching it, “must’ve been all that excellent training from your senpai.”

“Oh, you mean Daichi? Yea, he did help all of us.”

“No, not Sa’amura,” Kuroo drawls with a sneer.

“Bokuto, then. You’re right. He did teach me a lot at that first training camp.”

Kuroo chuckles and starts walking again, occasionally tossing the ball in the air again. “Sometimes I forget how rude you are.”

“Why? Because I refuse to give the compliment you’re so clearly reaching for?”

“Exactly! You know what I want, so just give it to me!”

There’s no missing the blank look that hits Kuroo’s face the moment he seems to replay those words in his head. Just like there’s no missing the way Tsukishima’s own heartbeat picks up a few paces. But, true to form, Kuroo keeps right on going.

“I’ll just know, in my heart, that I was indispensable in molding you into a powerful volleyball player.”

“How can that be possible when I’m still so much better than you?”

“You have about three minutes until you have to put some muscle behind those words. Want to walk back on any of that?”

“Never.”

The court is sand, mixed with twigs and leaves from the nearby trees. Tsukishima makes a comment about how playing on sand is different, but once Kuroo accuses him of trying to make excuses, Tsukishima knows he’s been goaded into actually trying and he can’t even care. _I’ll show him_.

It takes him a few minutes to get his bearings on the sand, but then he’s back to smacking down Kuroo’s shots and it feels good on his fingers. It’s clear from their playing styles that neither of them ever wandered far from their roots on their teams. They both try to score through blocking and more often than not they meet in the middle above the net, each shoving at the ball with a controlled power, trying to force the other one to yield. Kuroo gets him several times, but Tsukishima wins out in the end, but that’s partly due to the fact that Kuroo is laughing so hard that he calls for a break.

“Oh my god, the look on your face is priceless. Been a while since I’ve seen that one.” Kuroo slips under the net and throws the ball at Tsukishima. “Like I’ve clearly never had a hit man out for me, but I’d assume your face looks something like that.”

“Only because I’m still a better player than you.”

Kuroo steps closer. “Only because you’re younger.”

“By two years.”

“That’s not nothing.” Kuroo takes the ball back, his face even closer now, and even though the physical exertion and competition momentarily made him forget, all Tsukishima can do now is _remember_. The last time he saw Kuroo, the last time they were that close-- “you hungry?”

“What?” Tsukishima knows his eyes are on the soft lines of Kuroo’s lips, knows this, but he can’t look away.

“You hungry, Tsukki?” Kuroo hangs on the final sound of the nickname, drawing it out.

Tsukishima snaps out of his temporary lip hypnosis, “yeah of course. We were supposed to be going to lunch before you had this dumb idea.”

Kuroo’s still in his space and Tsukishima knows his words lack any of the snap he intends for them to have. “You seemed to like it.”

“Fine,” he sighs softly, “it wasn’t completely the worst. Now, can we eat?”

There’s a breathless moment where Kuroo closes his eyes for just a bit longer than a blink and Tsukishima’s eyes quickly dart around to see if there’s anyone because he thinks maybe -- no, Kuroo takes a step back.

“You in the mood for curry? My favorite place is around the corner.”

 

***

 

The restaurant is small and tucked between a convenient store and an udon shop on the bottom floor of an office building. It’s clearly a no frills, only focused on the food sort of place and, for that, Tsukishima’s thankful. He put in more effort than expected at the park and has shed his track jacket, even though it’s chilly outdoors, so he knows how he must look right now. Also there’s the fact that his heart is still thudding around in his chest, so something with no obvious romantic context is perfect right now.

Outside the shop is a ticket machine for ordering. Kuroo makes his selection first, putting in his coins and smashing a button with practiced ease. “I know what it looks like, but I come here all the time ‘cause it’s close to our practice studio. It’s so delicious. Best curry I’ve found on this side of town, hands down.”

Kuroo stands to the side, motioning with his arms to Tsukishima like he’s a butler welcoming a guest to a mansion. “Make your choice, everything’s good.” He leans back towards the machine, “my favorite is,” he taps a button with his finger, “the katsu curry, can’t go wrong, but when it’s cold their baked stuff hits the spot.” As he stands back up, Tsukishima hears coins dropping in the machine.

It takes him a beat to realize Kuroo’s just paid for his lunch. His heart is doing very dumb things inside his chest right now as lunch starts to feel more like date with that one small action.

He quirks an eyebrow in silent question.

“Consider it a thanks for humoring me earlier.”

Tsukishima floats several comments through his brain before saying, “I accept your payment for making me exercise.”

It seems to be a good one. Kuroo smiles. His heart continues forgetting what a normal beat should feel like.

With food ordered, they find a spot for two in the busy restaurant in the middle of a busy lunch. It’s two heavy, wooden barstools next to one another at the counter, tucked back along the wall. Tsukishima pulls his chair and sits first, acutely aware of everything the moment Kuroo sits down and his arm brushes along Tsukishima’s. Even once they’re both seated, the tight seating arrangement means their knees, their elbows, their forearms keep brushing against one another as they settle in.

Tsukishima keeps his eyes forward, glued on the cooks at work on the other side of the counter.

“So you said this place is close to your practice studio?” Tsukishima asks, desperate to ask a question and get Kuroo talking again and cut the tension he feels in the silence between them. He knows the restaurant is noisy, he definitely heard it when they first arrived, but now everything is muffled in his mind.

“Yeah, and our recording spot isn’t far from here, either. For all the office buildings around, the area’s got a cool, little creative scene, too-”

He lets Kuroo keep talking, more than content to just listen and get a handle on his nerves again. Sitting is helping. Watching the people at work in front of him is helping, too. He works to slow down his breathing, reminding himself that it’s lunch, just lunch, that he doesn’t need to light up like fireworks every time Kuroo’s hand brushes his. He folds his hands together in his lap.

“How’s the story coming along? I noticed the message at the end of last week’s update - a one week break. Gearing up for something big?”

Tsukishima nods, still looking forward. “The ending,” he replies simply, not sure what else to say.

“I thought as much. Certainly feels like we have one more big twist coming, though.”

It does something to his insides, knowing Kuroo’s been keeping up with their comic. “You’re right about that. I’ve been furiously re-writing certain parts lately, so I’ve been glad for the one-week reprieve we were granted.”

“You don’t get to choose?”

“No, the platform decides our schedule,” he wipes the condensation off his water glass.

“That kind of sucks, but it’s cool you got what you needed this time. I’m looking forward to reading what’s next.”

Tsukishima has to briefly shut his eyes tight to ground himself again. A question. Those move the focus. “What’s the band working on right now?”

“You know our EP came out a few weeks ago ‘cause I keep sending you videos, so we’ve mostly been trying to get that out there and -- yes!” Kuroo says triumphantly as two plates of curry land in front of them. “My stomach is so ready but I know from experience that if I touch it now, I’m gonna burn off the roof of my mouth. Anyway,” he continues, talking quickly, and Tsukishima turns his head so he can hear better.

It’s a wonderful mistake. At this close range, he can all too clearly see the way Kuroo’s face has lit up from talking about his band.

“We’ve been getting some radio play, which is huge, and now some venues are reaching out to us instead of the other way around, which means that somebody, somewhere is talking about us and that is, like, the best because we survive on word-of-mouth at this level.”

Kuroo’s smile stretches across his face, his eyes centered on Tsukishima. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, then turns to look at his food. Spoon in hand, he dives in, apparently ready to brave the burn.

“I’m glad things are going well for you all,” Tsukishima says, shoving the annoying reminder of all of those agent rejections out of his mind. “I hope you’ll remember me when you’re famous.”

Kuroo glances over, curry at the corner of his mouth. “Ah Tsukki, I could never forget you.”

By the end of their meal, Kuroo’s plate has been wiped clean, either by his spoon or, horrifyingly, with his tongue as he lits his plate to his mouth like some kind of barbarian. Tsukishima has a little bit left on his and he knows Kuroo’s been staring at it.

“Go ahead, I can feel your desperation,” he says, pushing his plate towards Kuroo.

“Really? Won’t be weird?” Kuroo tilts his head, giving Tsukishima a questioning look.

“I’ve just watched you lick a plate clean, so if things were going to get weird, we’re already there.”

Kuroo cackles, seemingly proud of himself for that move. “Excellent.”

Tsukishima’s glad when he uses a spoon, not his whole face, to eat his leftovers. He tries, and fails, to not think of the strange intimacy involved in finishing someone else’s food.

  
  


***

Outside the restaurant, Kuroo checks the time on his phone. “Ugh, I gotta go. My first appointment is coming up and I got to change clothes and prep everything. You headed back to the station?”

Tsukishima nods, taking careful note of the way Kuroo shoves his hands in his pockets, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, back and forth.  _ Is he nervous,  _ Tsukishima wonders, the idea seemingly impossible after Kuroo just ate like a ravenous beast in front of him.

A silence settles in as they fall in step beside one another. Tsukishima waits for his heart to go nuts from nerves again, but it remains steady, taking in the sounds of life going on around them. His stomach is gently twisting, though, thinking of what he can say because, well,  _ this was enjoyable and I’d like to do it again _ . Again, he waits for his heart to flip around at the new realization, the new certainty, but it keeps on, steady and sure.

Tsukishima knows that the walk ahead of them is short, that time and steps are already behind them, that his time is limited. Kuroo’s made so many of the steps forward on his own. It’s his turn, he feels it.

He stares ahead and asks, “Would you like to do lunch again?” He wanted to say dinner, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. _ Lunch is a solid compromise. _

“Sure, yea, like this weekend?”

Tsukishima feels his cheeks growing warm from more than the gentle sunlight on his face. “That works for me.”

“Or maybe, if you want to, this weekend is kind of crazy busy, like most of my weekends, but I have time for a dinner, like, a late dinner, tomorrow, if you want?”

Tsukishima hasn’t turned his head, but he can feel Kuroo looking at him, can feel the pleasant tingle on one side of his face. He nods.  _ So soon. _ “Friday’s fine.”

He finds his pace has slowed and that Kuroo has slowed with him. He’s closer now and Tsukishima can feel the warmth of his body near his. He pinches his lips together, suddenly so aware of everything his body is doing as it tries to continue walking even though it’s forgotten what walking is.

He feels a hand against the back of his, a pinky finger reaching out, holding on, then Kuroo’s entire hand slipping into his. Tsukishima stops breathing. He feels a a squeeze. Squeezes back, glad his track jacket is covering most of his hand from anyone else walking by. He doesn’t let go.

And neither does Kuroo until the station is in sight.

Kuroo motions with his head, his cheeks round from the smile on his face. “I’m going this way. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima nods again, wishing he could remember other ways to respond to the things people say with their handsome faces. He searches, finally finding his voice. “See you tomorrow.” He smiles, too, and he can feel that it looks almost right, almost like a normal smile, but in that moment he doesn’t even bother wasting any thoughts on considering how dumb he must look because Kuroo looks a little dopey, too, and that’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm really in the mood for curry. I think it's all the curry I've been making for my pokemon lately.
> 
> More things are happening!! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧ Now no one, NO ONE, can deny their feelings and we can keep rolling right along. Oh heavens I'm excited but nervous about writing the next two chapters. They were both some of the pivotal scenes that I outlined before Longshot even had a title.
> 
> Thank you so much for coming along with me on this krtsk journey. I hope you enjoyed the update (even though we're still wading around in the shallow G-rated end of the pool... for now)!


	17. Oh I’ll show you my big game.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proper date! Plus some bad weather provides Kuroo with some... opportunities. And Mister is a little jerk.

**Tsukishima [19:24]:** Where do you want to eat tomorrow?

**[19:24]:** No way, you pick the place  
**[19:24]:** you *were* the one who asked me out, so -- (´꒳`∗)

Kuroo pockets his phone as soon as Kenma walks back into the room with plates from his kitchen, but he knows he’s still smiling, like he has been all day, because his cheeks hurt. And his hand still feels warmer from holding hands earlier. He’s not imagining that. It’s true.

Now that Kuroo’s unpacked all of the take-out he brought over, Kenma takes it all in, one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure this is just for two people?”

Glancing up from his spot on the floor, legs tucked under Kenma’s table, “Look, I’m starving. I ordered with hungry eyes.”

Kenma’s eyes narrow. “You look rough.”

At this moment, Kuroo feels anything but. He’s had a fantastic day, he has a date tomorrow, another venue wants to work with the band -- he tucks a hand under his chin and flashes a grin and a wink, “I promise, I do not.”

His best friend is rooted in place, still eyeing him. “You look like you need to go home and sleep.”

Kuroo waves a dismissive hand. “No way. What about Minecraft night?” He turns back to the food.

He feels the mood in the room shift and he knows Kenma’s analyzing all the small details about him right now. Kenma’s never wrong. Kuroo starts to think over his day but, no, he can only remember feeling excellent. For like, the entire day.

Finally, he hears Kenma move again, soft socks shuffling until he settles down beside him. “I don’t think the viewers will riot if we miss one night of ‘watch me play with blocks with my idiot best friend.”

“You underestimate my value to your channel.”

Kenma snorts out a soft laugh. “No I don’t. I’ve checked the stats.”

Kuroo turns his head, hand splayed across his chest. “You wound me.”

“Data doesn’t lie,” Kenma’s grin curls into smirk, “I must be more charming than you.”

Resting his head against his hand, perched on the tabletop, he smiles until Kenma glances away. “Oh Kitty Cat, of course you are.”

Beside him, Kenma clicks his tongue. “I had another comment ready to go, then you had to go and say something weirdly nice.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Kenma starts opening the food boxes one by one and Kuroo joins in, revealing the overwhelming amount of choice Kuroo picked up from their favorite Chinese place. He’s just about to reach in to the first pile of fried rice when he hears Kenma’s voice beside him. “You still need to sleep, though. That’s not a surprise.”

Kuroo scoops a bunch of rice on his plate. “I take care of myself.”

Kenma makes a noncommittal sound next to him, apparently not buying any of it.

“I get the sleep I need,” Kuroo adds, indignant, “and I bet I slept more than you last night.”

“Debatable.” There’s still nothing on Kenma’s plate, even as Kuroo continues to prepare to shove entirely too much food in his mouth. “Just,” his best friend still isn’t looking at him, eyes glued on an empty plate, his hands tucked neatly in his lap, “Kuro, remember to slow down sometimes.”

“That’s what this is! What we’re doing right now.”

Kenma hums like he’s thinking, finally reaching to serve himself, too. Kuroo takes a minute to start up the TV and put on the show they’re currently working their way through together. _I’m not tired_ , he thinks, still buzzing with energy from the afternoon. _Things are going too well to get tired._

“You sure you’re okay?” Kenma asks after a while, his mouth filled with food he didn’t bother to swallow properly before talking. He glances over at Kuroo, his expression shifting, "because you still look awful."

Kuroo feels his whole face scrunching up over how equally gross and adorable his best friend can be. “More than okay. Good, really good.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“Probably not.”

“Are you going to tell me anyway?”

“Absolutely.” Kuroo shoves his entire body into Kenma’s personal space, making the smaller man grimace and dart away, but Kuroo just keeps leaning in closer until his face is right in front of Kenma’s. “Today Tsukishima and I held hands.”

“Why are you like this?” Kenma puts two hands on Kuroo’s chest and pushes him away, but Kuroo goes limp and Kenma struggles to stay upright, let alone shove off his friendly offender. Cackling loudly, Kuroo lets him struggle for a moment longer before he sits up, leaving Kenma to give him a dirty look. “I don’t know why I try with you.”

“Because we’re family!”

A little smile plays at the corner of Kenma’s mouth, but he turns towards the TV in time to hide it before it grows any bigger.

_ I know it’s there, though _ , Kuroo thinks, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork.

The intro to the show stops playing and he hears Kenma beside him, “Thanks for bringing food, Kuro.”

He smiles. “Anytime Kitty Cat, anytime.”

***   


 

Friday night begins with apologies.

Kuroo runs late at the venue where he met up with Tora and a guy he’d been talking to about their music. He was a friend of a friend and looking to connect with local musicians to make his new bar more of a location for people interested in the local music scene. The three of them got to talking and one thing kept leading to another positive thing, so Kuroo stuck around as long as he could before he shook hands, smacked Tora on the back, and ran out into the windy evening.

He feels bad, really bad. Especially when he realizes it’s almost a full forty-five minutes past when he said he’d meet Tsukishima. He’d remembered to text him updates, secretly sending messages with his phone under the table at the meeting so Tsukishima would know not to leave his house yet, but he still feels guilty down to his bones.

“I should have brought you flowers or something,” Kuroo says, trying his best to crack a smile, a joke.

Tsukishima scrunches up his nose. “What would I do with those?”

“I don’t know. Appreciate them?”

Tsukishima gives him an inscrutable look, one where Kuroo gets the distinct impression he’s being read like a book.  _ I really attract a certain type of person to my life _ , he thinks as the look reminds him of the way Kenma assess him whenever he has something to say about Kuroo’s life.

It’s fair, though, because his eyes are certainly trailing the long length of Tsukishima’s body. The evening is chill and there’s wind whipping around them the moment he joins Tsukishima on the train platform. Even when they descend the stairs to exit, the wind follows them, pushing them down into the station.

To protect against the chill, Tsukishima has on a black beanie, and Kuroo likes the way it frames his face, even if he does miss the bits of blond hair. He’s wrapped in a thin, but puffy black jacket that goes just past his hips and it leads to, simply, another black piece of clothing - black jeans that are tight enough to make Kuroo’s brain think things, such wonderful things. Such wonderful, distracting things while Tsukishima is saying something and he should focus-

“--down that way, less than a block.”

“Yea, sure, love it, sounds great. Lead the way!” Kuroo knows he’s put too many words together too quickly, also that he’s shoved the word  _ love _ in there like a maniac, but there’s a grin on Tsukishima’s lips and it’s making it hard, very hard to make words.

It’s impossible to small talk in the underground part of the station that has become more of a wind tunnel than anyone would like, and things don’t get much better once the two of them make it out to the sidewalk outside.

Kuroo’s feet are on the top step and he’s just about to leave the covered area of the station when the heavens open wide and rain pours from the sky at an alarming rate. Beside him, he watches as Tsukishima’s face contorts into a tight scowl, then he’s opening the umbrella at his side -- which promptly turns inside out the moment it’s fully opened.

Grunting in frustration, Tsukishima trashes it, and Kuroo watches his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh before he turns back to Kuroo. “Want to get a taxi or run for it?” Tsukishima shouts over the sound of the heavy rain pelting the area all around them.

Kuroo glances around. There’s no taxis waiting. They’d have to call one. “I’m fine either way,” he shouts in reply. “It’s not far, right?”

“Nope, not even a full block away.” Tsukishima’s scowl begins to twist into something lighter. “Bet I’m faster than you.”

Kuroo chuckles. “Of course, you know where we’re going.”

Tsukishima flips up his hood and starts moving towards the wall of rain, “Excuses, excuses.”

They’re soaked by the time they reach the restaurant. Tsukishima sheds his jacket outside, shaking it out, and Kuroo does the same. As he peels off his layers, Kuroo steals side glances at Tsukishima, stealthily checking out the outfit that’s revealed as little rivers of water shake loose from Tsukishima’s hair.

 

***

 

The bottle of wine on the table wasn’t half empty a moment ago. Kuroo blinks, not at all sure what time it is anymore. Initially, the conversation stayed neutral - work, weather, the comic, the band. But it took a while for their food to arrive and during that time there were plenty of less-than-comfortable silences while they waited. It doesn't help that the restaurant is classier than Kuroo imagined Tsukishima would have picked for their second - if curry counts - date. There's linens on the table, nice silverware, and a candle flickers in the center of every table. 

Kuroo tried his very best not to instantly fill the silences. Sometimes he takes the reigns on the conversation, but other times he holds his tongue, takes a breath, and lets Tsukishima share what he wants wants.

So far the results of that restraint have been simply wonderful. Given time to collect himself, Tsukishima seems to be more at ease than Kuroo’s seen him, well, ever.

Tsukishima’s across from him, fork down, food momentarily forgotten, as he flips through photos of his niece to show Kuroo.

“And here she is a few months ago at Akiteru’s birthday. She’s only two so the only recollection of any birthday she has is hers so she didn’t really get why it wasn’t  _ also _ her special day. So we,” he flips to the next photo and turns the phone back around so Kuroo can see, “had to cut Emi her own little square of cake, stick a candle in it, and call it her second and one-third birthday.”

“She’s adorable,” Kuroo comments with a smile, a warmth blooming in his chest from the way Tsukishima has chosen to share so much with him. And maybe it’s because it’s easier to talk about his comic, his cat,  or his niece than about himself, but Kuroo likes those parts, too. The things and people (and pets) Tsukishima loves are a part of him, after all.

“And spoiled,” Tsukishima grins, taking the phone back. A look crosses his face and he shuts off the screen, sets it face-down on the table beside him. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to see a  bunch of toddler pictures. I don’t know why I shared.”

“No, I liked them,” Kuroo says adamantly, trying to sound convincing, honest, “she really is cute.” He pauses, wondering where to steer the conversation next. His own plate is nearly empty. He needs to save what’s left for the next silent stretch. “Your brother still lives up in Miyagi?”

“Yea,” Tsukishima picks up his fork and spoon and begins meticulously swirling another bite of pasta. “Akiteru actually tried to stay super close to my parents but, he got a promotion that took him Sendai. He’s still insanely close. Too close for me,” Tsukishima gives a sort of sideways smile before his eyes drop and he’s looking at his plate, continuing to twirl the pasta even though there’s nothing left to wrap around the fork. “Does your family still live here in Tokyo?”

“My dad does. I see him every Sunday for lunch or dinner, whatever fits.” 

When he says it out loud, Kuroo gets a weird feeling, like maybe he’s not supposed to want to hang out with his dad every week, that maybe that’s a strange thing to still do, but Tsukishima nods his head after swallowing his food, “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. It is. Though, he spends most of the time prying into my life, you know how it is.” He tilts his head, smirk on his lips, but when Tsukishima doesn’t respond, he keeps filling the air with words, unable to help himself this time.

Because Tsukishima is looking at him, right at him, his eyes steady and certain but soft in a way he hadn’t seen yet. It leaves Kuroo feeling nervous and prone to babbling again. “He still lives in the house I grew up in. I swear, when I’m there it’s like I never moved at all. I walk in and he’s got me doing chores even though I didn’t make any of the mess that’s in there. I do it, of course, you know, ‘cause he’s my dad. And actually, I lived there for a while in college before I wanted to see if I could make it on my own. I couldn’t,” Kuroo laughs, “so I moved in with Akaashi.”

It helps to bring up friends. His family has always been a little small, has gotten smaller over the past few years, and his friends always helped make it feel bigger.

“That’s a name I’ve not heard in a while.”

Kuroo feels his smile stretch wider. “He’s doing well. Him and Bokuto. They’re engaged now, by the way. Don’t know if you even knew they were a thing, I mean, who couldn’t after being around them for more than five minutes, but,” he sighs loudly, “they ditched me to go live in Kyoto. So you win some, you lose some.”

He watches the tiny smile at the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth grow before he turns his attention back to his plate, spinning another bite of pasta.

“Kenma’s still here. You remember him? The setter from our team. Our tiny, frightening pudding-head?”

Tsukishima glances up with a slight nod. He takes a moment to swallow, covering his mouth when he speaks again. “I do. Saw him at that first show of yours, actually.”

“No way, he didn’t tell me. Did he say ‘hi?’”

Tsukishima looks doubtful. “I don’t think he remembers me.”

“Oh, he so does.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because your playing style totally pissed him off,” Kuroo says, matter-of-factly. “He likes to be the only calculating, evil genius on the court.”

Tsukishima settles back against his chair, looking pleased. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should. Though,” Kuroo points his fork, “you still have me to thank for your skills.” He notices there’s plenty of pasta left on Tsukishima’s plate, but this isn’t yesterday’s curry place, and he’s not going to ask to eat some. This place feels way different.

Looking across the table and taking in the relaxed slope of Tsukishima’s shoulders, the way his grin hasn’t grown, but it also hasn’t left his face since they sat down - this whole night feels  _ different. _

“That’s not what the score yesterday decided.”

“The sun was in my eyes!”

“It was cloudy.”

“The wind, then.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes as Kuroo chuckles, pleased with himself and how the evening is turning out. When he pushed for them to get dinner tonight, he wasn’t sure which version of Tsukishima would be there. He’s seen so many over the past several weeks.

And he knows Tsukishima has seen new sides of him, too. He wonders what Tsukishima sees when he looks at him, how he compares to what the other man remembers. It’s different trying to date someone that already knows him. The normal flirting doesn’t work just right, doesn’t fit. Tsukishima knows versions of himself that the people he meets now will never know. It makes things tougher. It makes things better.

Their conversation stalls again but each time the silence is a little less uncomfortable. Kuroo takes it as a chance to finish his meal, because it truly is delicious and far better than anything else he’d eaten this week. He reminds himself to not speak, to let Tsukishima keep guiding when he wants to.

“I’ve seen his channel,” Tsukishima says after a while. “Kenma’s. Hinata wouldn't shut up about it at the start and we get at least one video sent to the group chat a month.”

Kuroo can’t help but smile wide. “Oh yea?”

“Seen some interesting ones recently.” Tsukishima looks smug. “Didn’t know you liked  _ children’s _ games, Kuroo-san.”

_That means he watched recently. That means he watched for me, right? He watched it because I was on._ “Minecraft is a multi-generational hit. Everyone likes building things.”

“I have no comment. I have no idea what to do with,” Tsukishima vaguely motions with his hand towards him, “all of that.”

“Not my fault you can’t handle,” he motions to himself, fingers wiggling like he’s unveiling something magical, “ _ all of this _ .”

He waits for Tsukishima’s response, ready for whatever barb will be thrown his way that he’ll reply to immediately.

Tsukishima waits for a moment. He carefully refolds his napkin in his lap, then glances up with one eyebrow raised. “I’m positive I can handle all of that.” He says it so smugly, so  _ confidently _ , eyes locked on Kuroo’s the whole time.

Kuroo is stunned and, judging by the pleased look on Tsukishima’s face, Kuroo’s surprise is written clearly across his face.

“See? You talk a big game, but it was far too easy to shut you up.”

Kuroo smirks. “Oh I’ll show you my _big game_.”

“That wasn’t even clever,” Tsukishima sneers, but Kuroo catches something else flashing through his eyes and he knows he’s won this round.

“But it made you think about _something,_ didn’t it? Something _good._ ” Kuroo raises both eyebrows suggestively. It was a bit of a gamble, but it pays off. Tsukishima’s eyes narrow, but there’s no missing the fact that his ears have gone pink around the edges, that there’s a faint blush along his cheekbones.

Tsukishima steers the conversation away from the heavy flirting, but the mood has shifted and, this time, Tsukishima doesn’t seem to be running away.

The waiter comes, offering dessert, and Kuroo quickly passes. He’s far too full as it is. Tsukishima, on the other hand -- Kuroo realizes that the reason Tsukishima might not eat all of his food is because the man leaves room for dessert. Massive desserts. Desserts that require two or more people to finish, but Tsukishima manages just fine on his own. Sure, he offers Kuroo some cake once it arrives, and the rich chocolatey, strawberry flavors are delicious, but it’s clear that it was intended for him alone. As he watches Tsukishima slowly but steadily devour the huge cake slice, he considers it a gift that he was apparently special enough to be offered any at all.

When the bill comes, Tsukishima pays swiftly. Kuroo has no idea when he even had the chance to get his wallet ready. The waiter is gone before Kuroo even has time to blink.

“You didn’t have to. This is way more expensive than the curry was,” he protests.

“That’s fine,” Tsukishima waves his hand, glancing away and adding softly, “you can get the next one.”

 

***

 

Back outside, the rain is no longer pouring down in heavy sheets, but the wind has picked up considerably. It whips at their faces and Tsukishima tucks his gloved hands deep into his pockets. Kuroo knows his own face is terribly cold and catching more drizzle by the second, but there’s a streetlamp right above Tsukishima that is casting the most flattering glow on his features, on the sharp curves of his face, and Kuroo finds it hard to care about the weather at all.

Even as they battle the gusts back to the station, all he can think is  _ what can I say, what exactly can I say so that the night doesn’t end yet? _

He thinks of all the lines he used with others recently. They usually get him a laugh and an extension to the evening, but none of them seem right to use now. Tsukishima would see right through them. He’d roll his eyes, maybe less playfully this time around, and the spell might be broken. Something in Tsukishima shifted over dinner and Kuroo doesn’t want to let that go.

As it turns out, the universe doesn’t want him to let go either.

“Delays? From a wind advisory?” Tsukishima clicks his tongue, checking the boards outside the station under the cover where they first decided to run for it a few hours ago. He stares a while longer, then spins on his heels and gives Kuroo an intense look.

He’s about to open his mouth to suggest going to a place to grab drinks when Tsukishima continues.

“First things first, this is only because it’s the safest choice at the moment, so don’t go getting any ideas-” he pinches his lips together, raising both eyebrows as if to dare Kuroo to get ideas about, well, Kuroo has no clue but he likes the way Tsukishima is staring him down right now. “My place is a short walk from here. You can hang out until the trains are running again.”

Kuroo tries, he really does try, to play it cool, to have some nonchalant response, but before he can stop himself he’s nodding too quickly, too excitedly.

Tsukishima breaks the stare, looking annoyed, but that flush on his cheeks is back and Kuroo has never been so thankful for bad weather before.

 

***

 

They reach Tsukishima’s door minutes later, breathless with chests heaving because the rain came back with a vengeance. But it wasn’t just the weather that pushed them to run. No, every time Kuroo ran faster, Tsukishima would catch up and pass him. So naturally, Kuroo would have to take the lead again, cackling like a wild man. Back and forth they pulled past one another until Kuroo followed him up the outside stairs, all four floors, until they stopped outside of his door.

Tsukishima hasn’t looked at him since they got to his place and he still doesn’t once they’re inside and he’s turning on the nearest light. He’s still finding every other place to look other than Kuroo’s face when he says, “Stay here. I’ll grab some dry clothes.”

Tsukishima carefully removes his jacket, hat, and shoes, then leaves Kuroo in his entryway.

Kuroo thinks it’s cute, the way Tsukishima slides on his socked feet through his halls instead of picking them up to walk.

And then he’s alone, palms sweaty, heart elated. He’s trying to keep his expectations low, but it’s hard. _There’s a million other things we could have done while we waited, but he invited me here. He invited me here_. His fingers drum at his sides, toes tapping on the floor though he dare not walk in any further, not just yet.

Then Mister strolls around the corner, his tail twitching from side to side as he approaches. At the sight of him, Kuroo’s eyes light up and he squats down low, putting out one hand so Mister can get comfortable with him first. The cat slowly comes closer until his nose brushes against Kuroo’s fingertips once, twice. Kuroo stays as still as stone. Mister pulls backwards and seems to study him, but doesn’t walk away. Gently, Kuroo reaches out to press his fingertips against Mister’s soft head and the cat lets him. In a few moments, he’s dipped his head so Kuroo can have better access to scratch behind his hears.

He sees Tsukishima’s colorful, fluffy socks before he hears him walking back into the hallway. He glances up without properly standing yet and sees Tsukishima looming above him in a long-sleeve t-shirt and pajama pants, soft-looking and thin. Kuroo knows they’re thin because they leave little to the imagination and from this vantage point, Kuroo’s mind speeds to very dirty places, very quickly.

He stands too quickly, popping back up like a frightened rabbit.

Tsukishima’s holding out some clothes, but still not looking him in the eye. He speaks quickly, “Some sweatpants and a pair of shorts, so you can choose. And a shirt if you wanted it. I wasn’t sure. There are towels in the bathroom for your hair.”

Kuroo takes them, offering his thanks, and then Tsukishima turns to walk away and Kuroo’s thankful for something else besides the dry clothes. Those pants he’s wearing, while loose in some places, hug Tsukishima’s curves from behind and Kuroo’s eyes follow him until he disappears behind a corner.  _ There’s no way that’s not on purpose _ . 

Afraid of what might tumble out of his mouth, Kuroo heads straight for the bathroom that Tsukishima points him towards. Mister follows behind him until he closes the door.

He tries, and fails, not to think about Tsukishima wearing the sweatpants he puts on. And he changes shirts, too, not because his was terribly wet, his jacket saved him from the worst of it, but because if he’s going to be wearing Tsukishima’s clothes, then he’s going all the way.

When he comes back out, Mister is still there, looking up at him with unblinking eyes. Kuroo moves to get around him and Mister jumps away, skidding into Tsukishima’s bedroom. Kuroo’s eyes follow the cat into the dark room, wondering what his bedroom is like. Wondering if he’ll get to see.

The lights in Tsukishima’s living room are on now, two lamps by the couch. The TVs on, some show about buying houses, but Kuroo’s eyes are drawn to Tsukishima, tucked into one corner of his couch, his knees dawn up towards his chest. He’s looking at his phone. With the soft light of a lamp behind him, pictures and plants on the table next to him, he looks so at home.

He knows it’s a dumb thought because  _ of course he does, he’s in his own house _ , but it’s like he’s getting to peek at the rest of Tsukishima’s life, all the parts he doesn’t get to hear about in their text messages.

Tsukishima doesn’t look up when Kuroo takes a seat on the other end. He stays folded but shuts off his phone, setting it on the table with the lamp. He looks at the TV and asks, “want to watch a movie?” He adds quickly, “just until the trains are running again.”

Kuroo can’t help the stupid grin on his face when he replies. “Sure. Until the trains are running again.”

The wind and rain batters the windows while they watch a movie Kuroo’s seen before, but even if he hadn’t, there’s no way he’d be paying attention. Slowly, they’ve drawn closer together. Tsukishima’s gotten up a few times - to make tea, to dry his hair again, to feed the cat - and each time he’s returned he’s settled closer to where Kuroo’s sitting. He’s still leaning the other way, hugging a pillow to his chest, but he’s close enough to touch now. Easily.

Kuroo’s trying to be in the moment, but he’s planning. The nerves make it hard and he keeps catching himself tapping his fingers on his leg or picking at the hem of the t-shirt he’s borrowed, but he keeps focused on what he wants.

He stretches closer to Tsukishima. He settles his hand in between them.

Tsukishima turns, his eyes wide, “what?”

“What?”

“I thought you said something.”

“I didn’t.”

He watches Tsukishima swallow, his eyes tracing Kuroo’s lips, then he turns back to the movie.

He waits a beat, and then Kuroo’s hand inches nearer to Tsukishima’s leg. He wishes he had a hand to hold, could relive that wonderful moment, but without that he’s free to have other ideas. Slowly he reaches Tsukishima’s leg and he lets his hand slide up that thin, soft fabric until his palm is gently resting on his thigh.

He swears he hears Tsukishima’s breath shudder before he asks, “What are you doing?” There’s no bite, but there is a hint of playfulness, even as his eyes continue to stare at the TV screen.

Kuroo’s eyes are on Tsukishima, soaking in the view of his profile, his towel-mussed hair, the now very unmistakable blush creeping up his neck.

“I’m respecting your boundaries while also testing the waters.”

“How very chivalrous of you.”

Tsukishima hasn’t moved away, hasn’t shifted.  _ That’s a good sign. _ He gets the distinct feeling that this is a game and he’s ready to win.

With the movie still playing, Kuroo slides his body a little closer on the couch and lets his fingertips barely brush along Tsukishima’s inner thigh.

“I’m actually watching the movie,” Tsukishima says sharply, eyes still on the screen, but he’s grinning.

“So you wouldn't mind if I..." Kuroo strokes his thumb along his thigh while his fingertips slip further in, and a little higher.

The movie goes quiet in time for him to hear Tsukishima gasp quietly. 

Tsukishima turns to face him, but his eyes don’t quite meet Kuroo’s. “Yes?” His expression is cool, collected, but Kuroo knows he heard him gasp. It was small, but it was there.

Kuroo smirks, his thumb tracing lazy circles on his leg. “Is that a question or permission?”

Tsukishima seems to look him up and down. He takes a moment before he slowly pushes the pillow behind him and shifts his body until his face is only inches from Kuroo’s.

Kuroo holds his breath.

“Yes,” Tsukishima whispers, the words warm against Kuroo’s lips. Kuroo’s eyes close before their lips even meet, and when they do, tension pours out from his body as he relaxes into the kiss. It’s sweeter than the last time they gave in, but the pull between them is still as strong.

He angles his body, turning so that his hand can move up Tsukishima’s leg to gently grip at his waist as he kisses back. He lets his other hand drift from Tsukishima’s wrist, up his arm until it comes to rest on the back of his neck, those soft, short blond hairs tickling his fingers. Tsukishima keeps the feeling light, just a soft press of his lips against Kuroo’s, until he wraps his arms around his middle and Kuroo feels them gradually tipping down towards the couch cushions.

Once Tsukishima’s back is settled on the couch, Kuroo feels Tsukishima’s tongue on the seam of his lips, feels his hands pressing firmly into his back. Kuroo eagerly opens for him, remembering how good he felt the first time, enjoying it even more now as they’re pressed together. He slides his own tongue along his, drinking in the gentle hums he feels more than hears from Tsukishima.

Without breaking the embrace, he shifts his weight, careful to not pin Tsukishima in any weird, uncomfortable way, but there’s no denying that they’re both tall men fighting for purchase on a small couch. Legs are everywhere but Kuroo’s not pulling away for a second, not now.

Tsukishima’s hands are on him, exploring with an insistent curiosity. Those slender fingers slide over his back, his sides, tangle in his hair and make him sigh against Tsukishima’s lips. Kuroo responds in kind, his own hands wandering and slipping under Tsukishima’s shirt. He’s kissing now like he means it, like he wants the breathy sighs leaving Tsukishima’s mouth to turn into something deeper, something more beautiful.

He feels a gentle tug on his hair the moment Tsukishima’s tongue slips back forcefully into his mouth and Kuroo hears a rumble in his throat. Another tug and his head pulls away on instinct as the sound escapes him as a deep groan, his eyes shutting. His lips are hovering above Tsukishima’s, both of them struggling to catch their breath.

Tsukishima’s fists his hand in Kuroo’s shirt and pulls him closer. Eyes still closed, Kuroo feels Tsukishima’s mouth move. It feels almost like - he reopens his eyes and Tsukishima is smirking up at him, his eyes dark.

“I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Kuroo laughs, the sound breathless and soft. “I’m starting to think you lured me here under false pretenses.”

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

Kuroo grins against his lips and claims them once more, his breath hitching when Tsukishima shifts below him and oh, _damn those thin pajamas_ , because the way they’re aligned now, he can feel everything. Another groan builds in his throat and Tsukishima arches below him, creating far more teasing friction than there was before, and he’s gasping, head back and throat exposed. Tsukishima leaves a trail of hot kisses along his jaw until he licks a stripe up his neck, then lightly drags his teeth along the same place.

When their lips meet again, Kuroo pulls him in like a starving man, like the quiet pants and sighs leaving Tsukishima’s mouth are the air he needs to breathe. Both of their hands are grabbing for whatever they can hold. It’s messy. It feels amazing.  _ It’s Tsukishima. _

A meow. A loud one.

Tsukishima stills, eyes shooting open.

Another meow, louder, and close.

Kuroo doesn’t actually want to look at anything other than Tsukishima lying below him with kiss-bitten lips, but he glances up.

Mister is staring right at him and sitting on the arm of the couch just a few inches above Tsukishima’s head.

Below him, he feels Tsukishima’s chest start to shake with laughter. “I think we have an audience.”

Not exactly sure what to do in this particular situation, Kuroo stays still. He can feel the heat radiating off Tsukishima’s body below his, but since he hasn’t initiated anything again since the feline interruption, he doesn’t try. He’s stuck in his thoughts, wondering what to do next.  _ Do people make out in front of pets? That’s weird, right? They don’t know what’s going on though, but like-- _

A gust of wind shakes the windows and the power goes out.

 

***

 

Kuroo considered trying to get the mood rolling again, but it was clear from the way Tsukishima’s body went tense that, at least for now, the sexy vibes were gone.

Tsukishima quickly locates two flashlights and lights two scented candles in his living room, all while groaning about how much the forecast said the temperature is supposed to drop.

“--and now I don’t have heat. Guess you’re staying the night.” By the surprised look on his face, even in the dim candlelight, it’s clear that Tsukishima muttered those words before he fully considered the weight of them in his mind.

Kuroo would very much like to get back to what they were doing, to push it further if he can, but only if Tsukishima’s in it, too, and right now that’s not looking good.  _ Not impossible _ , he tells himself,  _ just not right now. _ “That’s - that’s fine. Thank you,” he replies, his heart still beating too fast inside his chest, “the couch was comfy enough. I’ll be all set.”

Tsukishima turns away, messing with the flashlight in his hands. He takes a moment before his eyes snap back up to meet Kuroo’s. His tone is casual but that stare isn’t. “Please, it’s going to be freezing out here and there’s no way that cat is going to let you sleep. My bed’s plenty big enough.” Even in the dim lighting, Kuroo sees the way his body grows tense, his jaw set with determination, but his eyes are wide, too wide to match the easy confidence in his voice.

When he replies, Kuroo finds it hard to speak as loudly or as suggestively as he intends, “Impossible to deny such a kind offer.”

“To sleep. An offer to sleep.”

“Just sleeping,” Kuroo says, but he’s unable to stifle the hopeful nerves setting his whole body on fire because he’s sure, he’s positively certain, that there’s a glimmer of something wonderful in Tsukishima’s eyes as he stares at Kuroo from across his living room. 

He’ll gladly take any amount of time, in any kind of way with Tsukishima Kei, but his imagination is taking off on its own and he’s not going to be the one to stop it, not when it’s thinking of  _ very nice _ things involving Tsukishima’s mouth, his neck, those perfectly long legs that he could dig into with his teeth, lavish attention with his tongue, and finally reach the soft curves of his ass - 

And cuddles, those, too. He would very much like to cuddle.

“Exactly. Just sleeping,” Tsukishima repeats.

Tsukishima dismisses himself to get ready for bed in his bathroom, leaving Kuroo to pet Mister and think, otherwise alone in a room that just screams Tsukishima - the version of him that exists now. It’s tidy and clean, but there’s pictures showing his growing sentimentality. There are plants on nearly every open surface that seems like it would get sunlight in the daytime. And the shelves beside him are stacked with books with grim but interesting titles.

Kuroo wasn’t sure what to think about Tsukishima when he saw him again that day in the shop. He’s still not entirely sure what to think. Tsukishima is a beautiful, confusing mess of mixed signals but this time Kuroo’s more sure than ever that he’s ready to discover the rest of what lies below the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be a contender for most lengthy chapter so far. I'm too lazy to go back and check, but it's over 6k. There was just _so much_ that needed to happen before the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for being along for the ride and leaving such wonderful comments along the way. We're over halfway now. These two lovesick fools can't avoid their feelings forever!
> 
> Me, the writer: (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ BE TOGETHER ALREADY.  
> Also me: ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ ah, no worries, you'll get there when you're ready.
> 
>  
> 
> Music notes for this chapter ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪
> 
> So, first of all, "Alone" by Heart is such a good fic writing song. Period. So that song. Listened to it more than 3 times in one sitting while working on this.
> 
> And to keep the Catfish and the Bottlemen mood going  
> (their song Longshot is where I got the title of this fic - mentioned that before, but it's been ages) --  
> "Encore" and "Overlap" are such a mood for this fic, any reunion fic really. Ooh, and their song "conversation" played a role in me thinking about their dinner date.


	18. Someone's eager.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

Tsukishima is pacing in his bedroom alone and blaming two things for his current predicament.

The first is the restaurant. He’d gone there a handful of times with Yamaguchi because he loved the food, the dessert even more, but it had never felt so - so -  _ romantic _ until tonight.  _ How had I never noticed all the candles? The linens on the tables? _ When he was with friends, none of that stood out. No, it wasn’t until he was face-to-face across a candle-lit dinner, the lights casting flattering shadows on Kuroo’s face that he realized.

And then that fool had the audacity to look like  _ that _ while talking about his life, his family and friends, reminding Tsukishima of everything that illicited his first gay panic moment all those years ago. Only now Kuroo was way less obnoxious and way more charming than he remembered.

Which brings up the second thing Tsukishima is blaming - the horny demon version of himself that he buries deep inside, that little voice that reminds him that musicians are hot, tattoos are even better, and Kuroo’s hair is stupid, so stupid, but also he wants to run his fingers through it and  _ pull. _

It’s that chaotic concoction of chemicals that stirs up the irrational desires that Tsukishima can, in his everyday life, quiet down to nothing. He keeps a tight lid on that side of himself because it’s gotten him into trouble before, made him catch feelings before he wanted to, so he shuts it up tight until it spills out and he’s left to try to not make a mess with the fall out.

Only this time, after volleyball yesterday, after  _ holding hands _ of all ridiculous things, after having to remind himself to blink at the restaurant because he was staring too much, after the couch, oh the couch -- Tsukishima was already willing to admit he was  _ attracted  _ to Kuroo but now, now he knows there’s something more there.

Both of those things combined to make a series of dangerous decisions that has led him to this current moment.

The source of all of these  _ feelings _ is in his bathroom, brushing his teeth by flashlight, and Tsukishima has a pain in one of his ankles from changing direction too quickly as he continues to pace on his bedroom floor.  _ Should I get in bed already? Should I stand here and welcome him to my - no, definitely not. I’ll get in bed. _ Tsukishima lifts the blankets, sits down on the edge, and promptly stands back up.  _ I don’t want to look like I’m beckoning him to my bed. I mean, but am I, right? I don’t intend for anything to happen, necessarily, but also I kind of want-- _ he makes a whining sort of groaning noise that gets trapped in his throat.

Making out is one thing. It’s enjoyable and doesn’t necessarily have to lead anywhere, but this? This sends a message that Tsukishima both wants very much and doesn’t want at all because, if he’s honest with himself, he’s glad his demon cat interrupted because he needed to stop and think, clear his head. He let himself get carried away, _again_ , and now that he’s had some time to himself --

Well, he doesn’t  _ not _ want what Kuroo’s probably expecting, but it’s been a long time, and he knows he’s awkward once things get to a certain point. His confidence begins and ends with being a good kisser, he’ll own that. While he might really want to… indulge, anything else is --

He hears the bathroom door open. His heart thuds in his chest. He wills it to _ shut up, shut up please _ and decides to sit on his bed, back propped against the headboard with a pillow, and manages to put his phone in his hands and pull his knees up towards his chest to look casual in his candle-lit room as Kuroo opens his bedroom door.

“Shut the door quickly or the little gremlin will shove his way in here.” Tsukishima says, inwardly dying at the way his voice cracks.

“You don’t let him sleep in here?” Kuroo asks, and Tsukishima is both comforted and sent spiraling even deeper into  _ feelings panic _ when he notices that Kuroo’s voice is also not entirely at its normal register.

Tsukishima shakes his head and mutters something about how Mister never sleeps and spends the night knocking things over, but he’s not sure what he says because of the high-pitched screaming sound in the back of his head because Kuroo is looking at him, wearing his clothes, and he’s about to  _ get into his bed _ and Tsukishima’s whole brain refuses to reset and work properly.

They’re silent for a while and Tsukishima can’t help but imagine the scene from Kuroo’s eyes as he stands there in the door. Tsukishima’s sitting on his bed and there’s candles lighting the room - candles that smell excellent by the way, he notes with an inward cringe.  _ Vanilla and cinnamon is too warm, too spicy _ . He berates himself for not having horrible-smelling candles.

“You’re cute without your glasses on.”

“Shut up.”

Kuroo claps his hands together and Tsukishima feels himself jump a little. “So,” he starts, “which way do you want to _ just sleep  _ together - face-to-face or butt-to-butt?”

“Back-to-back,” Tsukishima replies instantly because the thought of facing Kuroo in his bed makes him certain he’d either lose control or completely panic.

“That wasn’t an option.” It’s hard to see his face in his dim bedroom, but Tsukishima swears he can hear the smug smirk in that voice.

And just like that, Kuroo manages to be both the source of his current overwhelming stress and the source of his relief. How Kuroo keys him up but makes him feel relaxed enough to laugh is beyond his comprehension at this point. This whole man is beyond comprehension.

He puffs out a soft laugh, “back-to-back,” he repeats, refusing to say  _ butt _ in his own home.

The lightness in the air remains until he feels Kuroo’s weight cause the other side of the bed to dip.

_ Well damnit, _  Tsukishima thinks. Even like this the panic is instant.

When Kuroo said “butt-to-butt” he meant it. It takes him a few tries to get himself situated, but then Kuroo’s back is along his with, yes,  _ everything _ touching.

_ I am going to die in my own bed. _  Tsukishima’s almost positive Kuroo can hear his heartbeat. There’s no sense in trying to control it now. It has a mind of its own and it’s alternating between screaming “kiss him on the mouth!” and “curl up into a ball and never speak of this again!”

The heat against him does feel nice, though. In a weird way, it takes him back to the last time someone was in this bed, too. His ex. Along with all of the pleasant sensations his body is experiencing right now, the familiar break-up guilt stirs up in his stomach. Then Kuroo shifts and he’s pulled back into the present.

Where Kuroo is in his bed.

And they just made out on his couch.

In the dim light, he lies down and squeezes his eyes shut tight, scrunching up his entire face. He takes a moment to hold his breath and leave everything as tense as possible, then he releases, trying hard to let go of the breath quietly enough that Kuroo doesn’t think he’s being weird on this side of the bed.  _ I am. I am being weird. He doesn’t need to know. _

Tsukishima’s mind races with a thousand possibilities for the next few minutes. Each one is a series of choices with infinite branches stemming out from each decision and it’s so overwhelming and his heart is going to thud right out of his chest and he decides that any decision is better than no decision so he abruptly flips, the bed shaking below him as he turns to face Kuroo.

“We don’t have to be asleep just yet, do we?” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as awful in the silence of the room as it does in his own head. He wanted to sound sexy because what he wants, what he really wants right now, is to return to how he felt back out in the living room. Excited and sure of himself. And he only knows one way to get back there.

“I guess not. No.”

The candles are all still lit. Of course it looks like he didn’t mean to sleep yet.

“You tired?”

“Not at all.” Kuroo rolls onto his back and instantly Tsukishima rushes in to his space, eyes shut. He kisses too strong, too early, their teeth knocking together until he tilts his head and fixes the angle. He knows it’s messy, but he’s chasing that feeling from before and if he takes too long he’ll start thinking again.

Kuroo seems to take a moment to process, but when he does, he wraps his arms around Tsukishima and he pulls him half on top of him. Tsukishima responds with eager hands grabbing onto Kuroo’s shoulders, pushing himself up with an elbow to get a better angle, to position himself closer to being on top of him fully.

There’s none of the gentle finesse from before. Already Tsukishima’s eagerly nipping at his lips and licking in to his mouth. One hand drifts again to that ridiculous head of hair and he slides through those thick locks, twisting it between his fingers as Kuroo’s own hands slide along under his shirt and up his back.

He presses himself into Kuroo’s thigh, his toes digging in to his bed so he can press into his body. A low moan rumbles in Kuroo’s throat and Tsukishima can feel that they’ve picked up where they left off, that they’re both similarly affected and seeking more. He kisses him greedily, leaving his own breathy sighs against his lips to try and say without words what he wants.

Kuroo’s hand on his back starts to dip lower. Tsukishima’s body twitches in anticipation as it glides along his warm back, the pressure pleasurable as he travels lower and lower until he slips under Tsukishima’s waistband.

Tsukishima’s whole body tenses. He freezes. No breath. No blinking. Just dread in the pit of his gut.

He wrenches his body back, up onto his arms and pushes himself away. He’s still staring at Kuroo, unable to look away, but his mouth has dropped open and he’s still not sure he’s taken a breath. He gasps, filling his lungs. Thoughts return to his brain. Instead of just staring, he can see Kuroo now, looking back at him, concern etched in his face.

He can’t take it. He flips over onto his side, clinging to the edge of his bed. He’s silent.

For a while, neither of them move. Tsukishima sinks deeper into his own idiotic emotions.

Kuroo’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry if that was-”

Tsukishima buries his face in his hands. “No,” he says sharply, but the sound is muffled behind his fingers. “No,” he repeats, hoping Kuroo will hear it. “You’re fine. Everything you did was fine. I’m just-” His throat feels thick and it’s hard to speak, but he knows he has to. To Kuroo he has to look absolutely insane right now and if this is going to be the last time they see each other then Tsukishima doesn’t want him to leave like this.

“Turn around,” Tsukishima says, voice still muffled. “Turn around because I can’t have you looking at me. I’m going to say something and you can’t say a word until I’m done.”

Behind him, Tsukishima feels the bed shake as Kuroo resettles himself. Silence falls again. He tries, but he can’t find the words he wants to say. “Give me a second to think, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, though. It’s okay.”

Kuroo doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t speak. He seems to have taken Tsukishima’s directions seriously.

Tsukishima makes a low, choked sound in his throat. He pushes out words. “I kissed you on my couch because I wanted to. I invited you to stay because I wanted you to. But the moment things... progressed--” he cuts himself off with another strangled sound. “Talking about this is so embarrassing, god. It’s just -- it’s been a while, okay?” He blurts and smashes his hands harder against his face.

That’s far from everything inside his head right now, but Tsukishima’s not about to bring up the pile of sexual insecurities he discovered about himself after his last breakup. He thought… He thought when he found someone he liked enough, it would all sort of… work itself out. 

Tsukishima’s done speaking, but behind him Kuroo hasn’t moved or made a sound. It takes Tsukishima a moment to realize Kuroo’s not going to speak again until he knows Tsukishima’s done talking. Those were the rules. “I’m done, Kuroo.”

_ I must look so insane right now. Why can’t I just be normal about this? _

His chest tight, he waits.

Behind him, the bed dips. He feels Kuroo moving closer, then an arm gently curves around him and Kuroo’s chest is against his back, holding him close.

The gesture shocks him. Tsukishima stays tightly wound into himself, his face still behind his hands. He doesn’t move.

He feels Kuroo’s face move closer to his, can feel his breath on his ear when he says, “you don’t have to force anything. I’m happy to just be here with you. I promise.”

For what feels like the hundredth time that evening, Tsukishima’s brain whites out and when it comes back online everything is softer around the edges, even if his heart is still beating strangely. Gradually he pries his fingers away from his face and settles them beside him, clasped together on his bed.

It takes time, but wrapped up in Kuroo’s arms, he starts to unfurl. First it’s his legs. They were tense and pulled up tight against his body, but he lets one stretch out and settle, then the other. Next he tries to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders and his arms. After he stops grinding his teeth, the rest is almost too tough. His body resists relaxing, but Kuroo holds tight, puffing soft breaths against his neck. Slowly but surely, Tsukishima lets his eyes flutter closed and the rest of his body follows.

His heart is still choosing random moments to jump around inside of his chest, but he feels better. Kuroo’s breaths have grown steady and they tickle his ear. He stills feels mortified about what just happened if he lets his mind wander for too long, but Kuroo’s breaths and the beat of his heart along Tsukishima’s back is more calming than he would have imagined.

_ I missed him. _

The thought creeps into his mind out of nowhere and it takes Tsukishima a few beats to even process what it means.  _ I missed him _ , he repeats, so many of his shoved-aside emotions starting to click into place. He shifts in Kuroo’s arms to be, impossibly, a little bit closer.  _ He barrelled back into my life and I let him because I missed him. _

Tsukishima missed his loud, obnoxious, encouraging, kind friend. He missed the friend that made him laugh and roll his eyes so hard he swore they were going to get stuck like that. He missed the friend that could match him in clever retorts. He missed the boy he developed a crush on before he even knew he liked other boys that way. He missed him and when he saw him again he let himself wonder.

“Kuroo,” he whispers, “you asleep?”

“No,” Kuroo replies, his voice thick from being unused for a while. “Can’t sleep. Somebody’s sexy, long legs keep bumping in to me.”

“Did you just call my legs  _ sexy? _ ”

“Yes.”

Despite the weird mix of wonderful and awful feelings swirling around inside his head, he smiles. “You’re weird.”

“What? I got a thing for nice legs.”

Deliberately, Tsukishima moves his heel to knock into Kuroo’s shin.

Kuroo snuggles closer, tucking his chin against Tsukishima’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Tsukishima feels a pinch in his stomach. He grimaces, “yea.”

“Good, ‘cause now I clearly gotta ask you what you do find sexy.” It’s clear from his tone that Kuroo is trying to lighten the mood. He’s joking around, but there’s still concern trying to hide behind the humor. Even knowing this, it still helps.

“Not legs.”

“What then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You sure? If you don’t tell me, I’m going to assume you’re attracted to something weirdly specific.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” Kuroo hums while he thinks, “big toes.”

Tsukishima snorts out a quiet laugh. “I haven’t even looked at your toes.”

“I know! And wouldn't you like to? Good thing I’ve been hiding those bad boys away. Now you just get your fill of my excellent hair and my hot bod.”

“You did not just say ‘hot bod.’”

“A hot bod’s a hot bod no matter what you call it. So what are you into, Tsukki?”

Kuroo keeps pressing the question and each time Tsukishima resists answering, he makes a joke until Tsukishima can almost, almost forget how they ended up cuddling together like this in the first place. He starts to simply enjoy it.

“I like when someone has nice hands,” he admits, not even sure where it came from. It’s a thing he notices, but not the first thing. Or even the second.  _ Or is it, I don’t-- _

Around him, Kuroo’s arms tighten abruptly before they relax again. “Do you like  _ my _ hands, Tsukki?”

He remembers watching Kuroo play at both of his shows and knows where that specific train of thought must have started.

“They’re average.”

“No they’re not. They’re all cool and calloused from guitar strings. I know that scores me points.” Every time he talks, Kuroo’s breath passes over his neck and it’s hard to keep from shivering at the sensation.

“So having scarred fingertips is a plus?”

“I’m in a band. It’s definitely a plus.”

With his eyes closed, it’s all too easy to remember what Kuroo looks like on stage. He knows his imagination has added to the picture in his mind over the last few weeks, has highlighted the parts of Kuroo he was drawn to the most and _damnit, he’s exactly right._  Especially when those calloused fingertips are currently pressed into Tsukishima’s chest.

One hand starts to move and Tsukishima doesn’t want it to go anywhere, but then Kuroo’s hand is carefully seeking his own, sliding into place on top of where both of his hands are wound together on his bed.

A contented hum rumbles out of his chest before he can catch it. “Fine. So what is it you like about my legs?”

“Oh my god, where to start?” Kuroo laughs softly and Tsukishima likes how he can feel the rumble his laugh in his own body, too. “They go on forever. I’m still not even sure where your waist really is because you’re mostly legs and that is just,” he hums, “so nice.” He hears Kuroo breathe in sharply, cutting himself off. “If you have a thigh tattoo I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

“I don’t,” he adds playfully, “yet.”

Kuroo hums in his ear. “That’s fine, all in good time. Your legs are already perfect, though, that’s why I couldn’t resist while we were both so obviously very engaged in the movie.”

Tsukishima can feel him holding back. He knows Kuroo’s still trying to make Tsukishima feel comfortable, but he can also feel the way Kuroo’s muscles tense in the quiet moments in between the comments. He’s thinking, weighing his options.

“Oh, you mean when your very average hands caressed my thigh?” He can joke back, make a comment and try to tell Kuroo it’s okay, or at least better now - that by simply being Kuroo, he’s made everything a lot better. He moves one of his hands so it can rest on top of Kuroo’s, threading their fingers together.

“Is there something you would have liked more?”

Tsukishima knows he’s been cleverly trapped. Now he either has to admit that it riled him up enough to make him want to shove his mouth on Kuroo’s mouth, or say yes and have to face the inevitable follow-up question.

“Yes.”

“And what would that be?” Kuroo’s voice is a low rumble in his ear.

The hand that was in between his own glides along his sheets and slides up onto his stomach. Tsukishima’s breath catches. Kuroo’s muscles tense and Tsukishima knows he’s worried he’s going to freak out again, but he wants him to know that all the scenarios running through his mind after Kuroo asked that question now feel like pleasurable possibilities, not panic-inducing predicaments.

Carefully, he pulls free of Kuroo’s hold enough to reach behind him, over his shoulder, to run his fingers through Kuroo’s now loosely-hanging hair. The way Kuroo relaxes against him once more makes him feel like he made the right choice. With his eyes closed and his fingers tangled in his hair, he answers, “if you like my legs so much, you could have paid them more attention.”

The hand on his stomach slides along his body, up to his hip, and then down to rest on his thigh. “I wanted to.”

As fingertips lightly dig into his thigh, Tsukishima closes his eyes and asks, “what would you have done?”

Kuroo’s body shifts behind him until they’re perfectly aligned and Kuroo uses the leverage he has now to carefully slip his hand between his thighs and sigh into his ear, “I would have paid them the attention they deserve. I would have pulled you into my lap,”

Tsukishima gasps softly at the image quickly created in his mind.

“-so I could have both of my hands on you at once, massaging your gorgeous legs until you relax, your head falling back against my shoulder.”

Tsukishima hums, deep in the back of his throat. “And then what?”

“Then I would have wanted to feel my hands against your skin.” The hand between his thighs lightly pinches him and he breathes in sharply. “Slowly, I’d reveal inches of your skin, warming you with my hands as I go, kneading into your muscles until you’re breathing harder.”

Without intending to, he tugs on Kuroo’s hair. It earns him a low groan in his ear. These are just words and they’re barely moving, spare his hand in Kuroo’s hair and the hand between his thighs, but Tsukishima can picture it so perfectly and he can feel Kuroo’s warmth behind him, matching the warmth growing in his own body.

It’s good to feel it again - but that’s not quite right - because this isn’t like before. This time Tsukishima feels arousal growing throughout his whole body making his head feel light and fuzzy.

“Mmhmm,” he hums again, “and then what?”

“I’d work my hands into your skin, slowly slide my way back up. I’d get closer and closer to where you wanted me to touch you,” Kuroo’s hand slips out from between his thighs and glides up, “but I wouldn't touch you yet. Not until you were worked up enough.”

Tsukishima squeezes his eyes shut tighter, realizing that, yes, yes he does want Kuroo to touch him. It’s been building slowly, but now the desire for more is there, a hungry ache in his body. “How would you make that happen?” He asks, breathless.

“I’d kiss you here,” Kuroo’s lips brush against the shell of his ear. “And here,” another kiss under his ear, along his jaw. “And here.” His neck, teasing, light kisses all the way down. “And here.” The place where his neck meets his shoulder, and Kuroo doesn’t stop. He keeps brushing his lips along his upper back until he runs out of skin, his t-shirt stopping him from reaching more.

Kuroo presses kisses along the same places, working his way back up while his hand rises up Tsukishima’s thigh and, this time, when his hand dips below his waistband, Tsukishima doesn’t pull away. He presses his back more firmly into Kuroo, curling his fingers in his hair and welcoming the feel of Kuroo’s growing arousal pressing back against him. There’s only the sounds of his heavier breathing and Kuroo’s more insistent kisses along his neck.

It’s warm, way too warm now for shirts and the blanket on top of them. “Kuroo,” he sighs.

“Mm?” He feels the hum against his neck and it makes him shiver.

“Kuroo,” he says again and it’s horrible to pull away at all, but he does, hoping that what comes next is even better. He turns, sits up in bed, and glances back over his shoulder at Kuroo before turning away to pull his t-shirt up over his head. It earns him an appreciate groan from Kuroo.

When he lies back down, he’s on his side, facing Kuroo this time and it’s almost too much. This close now with the mood well and truly shifted, Tsukishima feels breathless for more reasons than before. Kuroo is attractive, sure, but he’s also soft, his eyes somehow both kind and eager at the same time.

But Kuroo’s hands aren’t back on him yet where he wants them to be. Kuroo’s looking at him intently. He asks, “are you sure?”

Tsukishima bites at his lip. He nods against his pillow. “I’m sure. Not,” he cuts himself off, shoving away the insecurity that threatens to well back up, “not ready for  _ everything, _  but-”

“Sure, of course. Whatever - whatever is good for you is so good for me, too.” One of Kuroo’s hands comes to rest softly on the side of his face, his thumb stroking gently along his cheek.

Tsukishima can’t help himself. He reaches out to hold Kuroo against him and captures those lips again with his own, returning to that soft sweetness they had earlier. There’s so much he wants to say, but this is the only way he can do it now. He wants to say  _ thank you for understanding. _  He wants to say  _ I’m glad you’re here tonight. _  But the words won’t come, so he kisses him with a tenderness rising up in him and spilling out as soft sighs against Kuroo’s lips.

It’s not long before Kuroo’s shirt is also discarded and on the floor. He barely has a moment for his mouth to go dry at the sight of all of Kuroo’s tattoos, so gorgeous up close, before the skin-to-skin contact has Tsukishima’s mind reeling. Their kisses deepen and their hands explore each other’s body, everywhere they can reach while their lips refuse to part even for a moment. Kuroo’s hand has been on his hip for a while, fingertips digging in, but he hasn’t moved farther down, even as his kisses grow more eager, and Tsukishima realizes Kuroo’s waiting for permission.

He palms down Kuroo’s chest, throat growing dry at the feel of the hard muscles underneath, but he keeps traveling. He gets to the soft fabric of his own sweatpants on Kuroo’s body, kisses him back harder than before, and lets his hand continue. He palms Kuroo’s hardening cock through the fabric and Kuroo’s hips stutter against him, a breathy moan leaving his lips.

Tsukishima drinks in the sound, swallowing it with more kisses. He slips his tongue into Kuroo’s open mouth and presses his palm more firmly against him, relishing in the way Kuroo’s hips press back.

Kuroo’s hand at his hip grips harder then slips down, coming to rest along the curve of his ass. Those calloused fingers dig into the soft flesh there and Tsukishima gasps before claiming those lips again with more intensity than before.

As their breaths grow more ragged, Tsukishima grazes his fingers along Kuroo’s shaft and Kuroo’s hands explore again, braver now. They cup his ass and massage the muscle there, but they slowly find their way to Tsukishima’s cock, straining against his briefs. Still inside his pajama pants, Kuroo’s fingers slide over him.

The touch is too light, too much of a tease, but somehow still too much. Tsukishima’s mouth falls open, his heavy breaths pouring out. Kuroo’s thumb slides up the length of him and he grits his teeth, holding in a groan. Their lips fall back together, intense but purposeful now.

When Kuroo pulls his head back, Tsukishima chases after him. Kuroo laughs softly against his mouth. Tsukishima opens his eyes and they lock onto Kuroo’s dark gaze.

A grin slips onto Kuroo’s lips. “Can I suck you off?”

Tsukishima’s eyes shut again and his first unrestrained moan of the night slips out of him. He nods, hands gripping into Kuroo’s skin. “Yes.”

He feels Kuroo moving on the bed and his eyes shoot open. He expects for him to maybe move down the bed or hover over top of him, but Kuroo simply flops onto his back and shoots him a side-glance. “Come here,” he says, voice thick, and he pats his own shoulders.

Tsukishima rolls himself up onto his knees, his body pulsing with want as he climbs over Kuroo. Before he gets to where Kuroo wants him to be, he can’t help but bend down and capture his mouth again, sharing breaths and soft moans before he straddles Kuroo’s shoulders.

Below him, face poised beautifully next to his clothed dick, Kuroo smirks.

“Someone’s eager,” Tsukishima grins.

Kuroo’s smirk fades and he hums deeply, the sound shaking in his chest. “Mm, you have no idea.”

Tsukishima bites his lip, his head falling limply back for a moment as Kuroo fists his pants and yanks them down. He rises up higher on his knees, eyes wide as he takes in the impossibly perfect sight of Kuroo hooking his thumbs into his briefs and then licking his lips when Tsukishima’s cock springs free.

Kuroo closes his eyes and wraps his lips around his head, his tongue putting pressure along the bottom. Tsukishima groans, watching Kuroo’s mouth wrap around him and suck him down as far as he can in one go. Kuroo’s neck is straining, lifting up off the pillow, and Tsukishima gently pushes his hips forward, unable to stop the low groans from his throat as he watches himself disappear into the tight, wet heat of Kuroo’s mouth. Just when he thinks he’s gone as far as he can, Kuroo’s hands reach behind him, grab onto to his ass, and push him further.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima swears breathlessly as Kuroo swallows him down to the hilt.

Slowly, Kuroo drags his tongue along the bottom of his shaft as he pulls back off. Tsukishima’s breathing hard when his cock slips out and Kuroo glances up at him. His cock is resting against his cheek and Kuroo has the audacity to grin like that in this situation.

“Now who’s eager?”

Tsukishima wants to deliver a witty retort, but he just groans again, his hips shuddering forward on their own.

Kuroo licks along the side, swirling his tongue, teasing with light touches until Tsukishima’s reaches out his hand to grab onto his hair. Kuroo huffs out a laugh and then swallows him again, swiftly and completely. The rush Tsukishima feels is unlike anything else. He knows it’s been a while, but no one’s touched him like this. Kuroo’s humming with pleasure like he’s the one feeling good and Tsukishima’s head is spinning. He tries to keep his hips still, careful not to thrust into Kuroo’s mouth, but the man below him is making it difficult with the way he’s sucking him down like he was hungry for it.

He feels heat pooling in his gut. It grows and grows as Kuroo alternates between a quick, frantic rhythm and one that’s slow and steady. As good as it feels, though, Tsukishima knows what he needs to push himself over the edge.

“Kuroo,” he says, trying to get his attention, but it escapes as a moan and Kuroo just works harder, sucking hard and kneading his fingers into his ass. “Kuroo,” he tries again. This time, Kuroo’s eyes fly open and the way he looks up through his lashes, dick still shoved deep in his mouth, pushes Tsukishima painfully closer to an edge he knows he can’t reach like this.

“I need,” he finds it hard to speak, “I can’t - like this,” he has to pause to catch his breath. “I can’t come like this,” he finally manages. “I need,” he reaches behind himself, his hand passing over Kuroo’s before he slips between his cheeks.

The way Kuroo’s eyes open wider would suggest he gets the message quickly. He pulls off of Tsukishima’s dick and the cold settles in quickly. Tsukishima shivers.

“Should I-- do you want me to--”

“I can do it.” For already having his cock in his mouth, Tsukishima feels oddly embarrassed about Kuroo’s fingers in his ass.

Tsukishima finds the strength to shift his weight and reach into his bedside table drawer. He fumbles before getting his bottle of lube. It drops onto the bed with a soft  _ thud _ .

Kuroo chokes back a laugh. “Whoa, Tsukki, that’s a big bottle.”

“I bought it on s-- I don’t have to tell you why I have it.” He looks down at him with a smirk of his own. He settles again on his knees, legs spread across Kuroo’s chest. The mood doesn’t disappear with the comment. If anything it lights him up more, their back-and-forth adding to how much he feels for the man staring up at him like he’s starving for more.

Tsukishima doesn’t keep him waiting long. He spreads the lube on his fingers and just as he pushes two fingers in, he moves his hips forward, tracing his cock along Kuroo’s lips until he opens wide and he slides back in.

Kuroo abandons his earlier methods and sticks to one rhythm, steady and hard, and Tsukishima matches the pace with his own fingers, slipping in and out and moaning from the dual stimulation. He still tries to still his hips to keep them from thrusting, but Kuroo encourages it, presses his hands hard into his ass and pushes him forward in time with his own movements. Kuroo’s eyes open and the way he stares up at him makes the telltale heat in Tsukishima’s stomach return. It grows as he slides in Kuroo’s tight mouth and stretches his arm until he hits the spot that he needs.

His groans get deeper. “I’m close,” he warns between heavy breaths.

Then he feels Kuroo’s hand moving behind him. Another finger joins his own, pressing into him gently, but it’s enough to send him careening over the edge. He pulls himself out of Kuroo’s mouth and watches his cum paint his chin, his neck, his beautifully tattooed, muscled chest in white ribbons. He struggles to stay upright as he rides out his release, but Kuroo’s hands are steady behind him. He leans against him until his breath calms down. He shifts to the side and carefully lowers himself back onto his side on the bed.

“Sorry about -” he huffs, still catching his breath “-the mess. Tissues.” He throws out a lazy arm behind him in the direction of his bedside table, but Kuroo chuckles and slips over top of him to grab them instead.

“No worries. I like it.” He’s smiling way bigger than someone who just got painted in cum should look. “Very artistic design here. Dynamic.”

“God, you’re the worst.”

“That’s not what your face was saying about a minute ago.”

Tsukishima weakly scrunches up his face into a sneer, but he doesn’t object. He lets his eyes close for a few moments. Gradually, his breath steadies and his limbs no longer feel like they’re shaking. He opens his eyes and Kuroo’s eyes are locked on him, still grinning.

His face smashed against his pillow, Tsukishima narrows his eyes and says, “your turn.”

Dipping into some unknown well of strength, Tsukishima abruptly sits up, slides off the bed, and stands. He grabs a hold of Kuroo’s waist, enjoying the surprised yelp he hears, and pulls him to the edge of the bed, his sheets sliding along with him.

“What are you-”

Tsukishima cuts him off by kneeling beside his bed and grabbing onto Kuroo’s pants. He pulls hard and Kuroo seems to scramble on the bed, lifting his hips quickly so both the pants and his underwear will slide down. His eyes are wide, mouth wide open.

“Now who’s eager?” Tsukishima smirks. He won’t admit it, but he is, too. When Kuroo’s fully-hard dick popped free, his mouth watered and he had to swallow hard before he felt like he could talk again.

“I am,” Kuroo readily admits. “I want,” he closes his eyes and sighs, “oh I want everything you’re about to do.”

“Good,” is all Tsukishima says before he sets his gaze on what he wants and licks a long, slow strip down Kuroo’s cock and back up, enjoying all the sounds he hears above him. Kuroo is so vocal, hissing breaths between clenched teeth before his mouth drops open again and he groans loud in the quiet of the room. He can’t wait to hear more.

He licks his lips and slips onto Kuroo’s head, swirling his tongue around it and wrapping a hand around the base. He lavishes attention on the tip, licking and sucking and letting his own filthy sounds mix with Kuroo’s moans above him. He pumps his hand but waits to suck him down any deeper, wanting Kuroo to sound desperate first.

It doesn’t take long. “Please,” Kuroo pleads, “more, god, I need more.”

He glances up and enjoys the almost pained look on Kuroo’s face, his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched, as Tsukishima swirls around the head a few more times. He watches for the change in his expression when he finally gives him what he wants, hollowing his cheeks, and sucking him down as far as he can. He leaves his hand in place, pumping slowly, knowing he can’t pull him in as deeply as Kuroo did for him, but he’ll make up for it.

He hums as he swallows down his shaft, working in rhythm with his hand as he works up to a steady pace. He starts off slow and lets it build, little by little. With his thumb he applies pressure where he knows he likes it and, judging by the groan he gets in response, it makes Kuroo feel good, too. He slides his tongue around and pulls until his jaw gets sore, little bits of spit running down his chin.

Tsukishima quickens the pace until he feels Kuroo’s hips twitching. Small pulses of Kuroo’s hips drive his cock deeper into his mouth and he takes it all, pushed to his limit as pinpricks of tears stings his eyes. He doesn’t let up. He keeps the pace steady as Kuroo’s moans grow louder, cracking into babbling cries for “more, more, more.” Tsukishima watches his head limply fall back and he’s crying out, chanting, “I’m close, I’m close, I’m clooo, oh, _oh_.”

He closes his eyes as Kuroo spills onto his cheek and his chin. It’s hot and sticky and it drips down onto his chest. He opens his eyes again, satisfied that Kuroo looks so dazed as he stares down at him. Tsukishima feels a smirk on his lips from making that happen, but then Kuroo’s bending down into his space, kissing him hard, not caring that his own cum is smearing between them. It’s filthy and with anyone else, Tsukishima is sure he’d pull away, but instead he kisses back even harder.

When Kuroo sits up again to catch his breath, there’s a dopey grin on his face. “I remembered how good you looked when you came and there’s no way I could last long after that.”

Tsukishima glances away, quickly grabbing for tissues to wipe Kuroo’s cum off his face and chest.

Besides Kuroo’s heavy breathing, the room is quiet again and Tsukishima has to keep grounding himself in the current moment because his mind keeps running away from him, imagining more things, more wonderful things they could do together.

“Do you want to go clean up in the bathroom?” He offers to the man currently starfished on his bed, still panting softly.

“In a bit,” Kuroo sighs. “I don’t feel like moving yet.”

“Well, then I’ll go first,” Tsukishima excuses himself, feeling like the phrase came out oddly formal, but he can’t be in charge of his responses, not when Kuroo is looking that blissfully content from something Tsukishima did with him. 

***

 

Candles extinguished, but power still off, they slide back into bed, back-to-back and butt-to-butt once more.

Tsukishima knows there’s a weird smile on his face, so he’s glad for their positions and the complete darkness when he whispers, “Good night, Kuroo.”

Kuroo hums, stretching out his legs under the pile of blankets they’re both warm and cozy under. Their feet brush against each other. “Mm, good night, Tsukki.”

It’s silent for a few minutes and Tsukishima starts to give in to the strong pull of sleep, but Kuroo’s voice startles him.

“Tsukki?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be surprised if you wake up and we’re cuddling. I’m a snuggler.”

Tsukishima shoves his face harder into his pillow, grinning like an idiot. “You better not.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Fine. Good night, again, Kuroo.”

He can hear Kuroo chuckling to himself. “Good night, again, Tsukki.”

 

***

 

When the power comes back on, Tsukishima is startled awake by the sounds of all of his appliances beeping and the lights coming back on in his living room, the light creeping under his closed bedroom door. He twists to resettle and fall back asleep, but a heavy set of arms and legs stops him.

_ I’m a snuggler. _

Tsukishima’s aware that being gently crushed by Kuroo is probably not the most comfortable way to sleep, and yet he finds his eyelids getting heavy quickly.

And he sleeps. Wrapped up in all of Kuroo, he sleeps better than he has in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a little smut for y'all, as a treat. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ You earned it. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
> 
> Oh, but really, your comments on ch 17 were so encouraging that I just took all that positive energy, mixed it with my desire to finally write this chapter and get them to TOUCH ALREADY, and it poured out of my bones in a day. I've been waiting for this moment, too! I super hope it comes across as a satisfying "FINALLY" because this is my first slow burn and I both enjoyed the power and feared the power. The burn, it is delicious and dangerous. Ha.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and enjoying! If I stick to my current outline, there's about ten chapters left. Ooh now, what's gonna happen next?


	19. Don’t worry, I’m playing it cool.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo plans, he texts, he smiles, and he gets some big news.

The front door of the shop creaks open and Kuroo hears the telltale sound of Ibuki’s heavy boots hitting the floor. He turns to say good morning as her face peeks around the doorway to the studio and sleepily greets who she expects to see there. “Good morning, Iwaguchi-san,” she yawns, like she must do every morning.

Kuroo stares, waiting for her to realize that he’s there, too.

She doesn’t.

“Good morning, Ibuki,” he says to her back after she turns to go to her desk.

She jumps, spins on her heels. “What are you doing here this early?”

“Getting my shit together.”

“Little late for that,” she smirks.

“Never too late for that,” Iwaguchi chimes in with his gruff voice, not even glancing up from his work station.

“Okay, but really, what are you doing here? This looks shockingly like real work.”

Kuroo has a planner stretched out on a clear part of his work bench. He has three fancy pens that he dug out of the “office supplies” mess of a drawer in his living room. 

“I am a very busy man and I need a schedule so I don’t forget anything. There’s different colors for everything - green for the shop, blue for the band -”

“What’s the red for?”

Kuroo grins up at her, his cheeks hurting from how hard he’s smiling.

“You wanted me to ask that, didn’t you?”

He nods and continues, “Red is for dates.” He holds out the _s_ sound until Ibuki is rolling her eyes.

Right now the only date set in stone and written in red is a morning coffee date later this week before Tsukishima goes to work. Kuroo asked about some other times, but Tsukishima said he was busy or gave some other noncommittal responses, so Kuroo hit the brakes - just a little. So, the rest of the red is pockets of time in Kuroo’s days - a few hours in the morning on that day, an open evening after the shop another day - where he could possibly see Tsukishima.

Because, truthfully, Kuroo wants to be with him all the time. Every waking moment. And the sleeping moments, too. He wants to abandon his apartment and be in Tsukishima’s space 100% of the time. He wants to make him breakfast and brew him a properly good cup of coffee. He wants to binge new shows together on the couch while Mister sits between them. He wants to feel and hear what Tsukishima is like when he fully lets himself go during sex. He wants to be the big spoon every night. He wants to skip all the dating parts and go straight to _being together_.

He’s wanted this before.

It’s never worked out.

There’s not enough hours in the day to do and _be_ everything he wants to be in his life right now. A great boyfriend. The guitarist for band that’s hungry for more. An tattoo artist with a growing clientele.

 _But this time will be different. I know it. It’s why I’m planning_.

“Don’t worry, I’m playing it cool.” He winks up at her and she rolls her eyes.

“That is not a thing you are capable of,” Nakayama’s voice calls from the front desk. She walks through the doorway into the studio carrying far too many bags with her like she always has in the mornings. Even with her lunch, her snacks, and whatever else she hauls to work everyday hanging off of her, she reaches up an arm to mess up his hair like he’s a little boy. “You have no chill, Kuroo-kun.”

 

***

 

Kuroo’s lying in bed with his head smooshed between two pillows, creating his own little cocoon lit only by his phone screen. He’s probably ruining his eyes, but he doesn’t care.

 **Tsukki [00:43]:** you should be asleep ****

**[00:43]:** hypocrite  
 **[00:43]:** but also I haven’t finished telling you about my day

 **Tsukki [00:44]:** oh? You mean there’s more after you describing every minute detail about the pasta you invented to use all your leftovers?

 **[00:44]:** hey, that shit was creative  
 **[00:44]:** I’m a ground-breaking, culinary genius  
 **[00:44]:** And it didn’t even taste bad  
 **[00:44]:**...didn’t taste too bad

He watches the little notification that tells him Tsukishima is typing with a smile on his face. He got into his bed half an hour ago, but they’ve been going back and forth since. It’s like some game of flirty, bedtime chicken - no one wants to be the first out. Typically, Tsukishima’s the first to say he’s actually going to sleep, but even he’s been prolonging their conversations since _the weekend_. Kuroo shivers at the memory and smiles impossibly wider.

 **Tsukki [00:45]:** a culinary genius, huh?

 **[00:45]:** YEP. I’ll have to cook for you sometime

He wiggles his toes under the covers, excited but nervous every time he drops hints that he would like to spend more time, actually all the extra time he has, with Tsukishima.

 **Tsukki [00:45]:** after that picture, I’m terrified of what you’d make

Kuroo takes note of the fact that Tsukishima didn’t ignore his reply. Instead he pushed it a little forward, too, in his own way.

 **[00:46]:** I’m actually an excellent cook, for your information  
 **[00:46]:** I have several specialties that I know are particularly good  
 **[00:46]:** guess you’ll just have to wait and see

The minutes stretch on and Kuroo feels less and less sleepy the longer he’s in bed. He knows he’s tired, can feel it in his bones, but every other part of him is alight with possibility.

 **Tsukki [00:46]:** well, I don’t cook, so don’t expect anything delicious from me.

An opening. Kuroo takes it, excited to see if he can steer this conversation somewhere else for a little while. The past few nights, Tsukishima’s been hesitant at first but willing to play along.

 **[00:47]:** oh come on now  
 **[00:47]:** you have plenty of delicious things to offer me

 **Tsukki [00:47]:** I am particularly skilled in the art of tidying up.

 **[00:47]:** aw fuck, I could actually really use that right now  
 **[00:47]:** my place is a WRECK  
 **[00:47]:** but that’s not what I was thinking about  
 **[00:47]:** and you know it  
 **[00:48]:** *waggling my eyebrows at you*

 **Tsukki [00:48]:** you are the least subtle human I know

 **[00:48]:** puh-lease  
 **[00:48]:** I could be so much less subtle  
 **[00:48]:** you don’t even know

 **Tsukki [00:48]:** I shudder at the thought.

 **[00:48]:** YEA YOU DO

 **Tsukki [00:48]:** ...I walked right into that one, didn’t I?

 **[00:49]:** *eyebrows intensifies*

 **Tsukki [00:49]:** god, you’re dumb.  
 **Tsukki [00:49]:** so what, exactly, are the delicious things I offer, then?

Kuroo’s mind rushes back to the weekend, flashes of that stormy night at Tsukishima’s place filling his mind the way they have been every day since. It’s been harder to focus when his brain will suddenly remember exactly how Tsukishima looked the moment he slipped his fingers into himself, or when he came, or when he, _god it’s getting warm under these blankets_ , got down on his knees, closed his eyes, and --

 **[00:49]:** oh, like you don’t know!

 **Tsukki [00:49]:** I don’t. Please. Enlighten me.

There’s a hundred different ways he could reply, but Kuroo chooses the one he thinks will most throw Tsukishima for a loop in the game they’re playing.

 **[00:50]:** one of the absolutely  
 **[00:50]:** most delicious things  
 **[00:50]:** you have to offer is  
 **[00:50]:** how frikkin’ cute you are when you’re asleep and your hair is all fluffed up against your pillow and your mouth is open just a little and you look so soft I want to scream

 **Tsukki [00:51]:** uncalled for. I’m going to bed.

 **[00:51]:** scale of 1 to 10, how much are you blushing right now

 **Tsukki [00:52]:** zero.

 **[00:52]:** liar

 **Tsukki [00:52]:** good night, Kuroo.

 

***

 

On his first glance around the coffee shop, Kuroo almost misses him. From the back, Tsukishima’s just an adorable grey, knit hat with a ball on top with a slender neck that reaches down towards a oversized, deep blue, chunky-knit sweater with a crisp, white collar peeking out. Dressed for the cold, he looks like a living blanket, so soft and huggable. Kuroo has to gather his thoughts so his first words aren’t an enthusiastic invitation to shirk all their responsibilities and spend the day snuggling and having sex all day.

It doesn’t get any easier when he takes the seat opposite him and is greeted by his first Tsukishima-smirk of the day.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he greets.

Tsukishima grumbles a reply, but his mouth gently curves into a smile.

“You were here early,” Kuroo says, gesturing to the already half-empty mug of coffee in front of him.

Tsukishima traces a lazy finger around the edge of the mug. “The plan was to rapidly consume one cup before you got here, then slowly enjoy the other while the caffeine prepares me for a dreadful day in the office.”

“Sorry to ruin your plans,” he grins playfully.

Tsukishima shrugs, lifting his mug to take another large sip.

Kuroo looks over his shoulder at the menu, another round of excitement rolling through his body for an entirely different reason. He’s never been to this shop before because it’s not on a side of town he frequents, and truthfully he usually can’t afford to treat himself to fancy coffee. But he likes the whole vibe of the place - the small menu, written in white on a blackboard, boasting homemade syrups and other delights and the whole cafe smells incredible.

He asks Tsukishima for recommendations and he runs him through his favorites. On the simpler end, their espresso is fresh and pungent in the best way, and on the heavier end their seasonal brown sugar syrup is a must-try.

“You ridiculed me that time I ordered a sweet coffee,” Kuroo points across the table.

“That’s because there was so much whip cream and milk it was barely coffee anymore. Sweet things are worth it if they’re the right kind of sweet things.”

Kuroo’s grin widens as he locks eyes with Tsukishima, “couldn’t agree more.” He gets up to order and Tsukishima starts to follow, downing the last of his first mug of coffee. “No, no, keep our seats,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “Tell me what you want. I got this round.”

It’s clear from the look on Tsukishima’s face that Kuroo’s started the morning well, very well. He mentally throws himself a mini-celebration as Tsukishima rattles off a surprisingly complicated order.

When he sits back down after carefully setting both their drinks on the small table, he props his head up on both of his hands and beams at the man across from him.

“What?” Tsukishima asks after a moment.

“Just in a good mood.”

Tsukishima’s nose scrunches in mock disgust, but there’s no missing the way the corners of his eyes crinkle from a hidden smile of his own. “It’s too early for that.”

“It’s never too early for happiness, Tsukki,” he hangs on the final sound of his name, dragging it out until he’s out of breath. It earns him an eyeroll and a playful smirk in response.

As their drinks cool, they chat about nothing in particular. The weather is cooler again after last week’s freak storm. Kuroo shares pictures of the new guitar he’s pining after. Tsukishima shares a picture of Emi and then several Mister, both at Kuroo’s request.

When they fall back into quiet moments, Kuroo feels like he should pinch himself just to make sure it’s real. Tsukishima’s sitting across from him, seemingly comfortable in his company, after weeks of who knows what was going on inside that beautiful head of his. The day that Tsukishima walked into his shop he thought maybe, maybe they could strike up a friendship again. As much as he wanted what’s forming now, he didn’t actually think it would happen.

“Your one week deadline reprieve is over, right?” Kuroo asks, curious about Tsukshima’s progress with his writing. And, if he’s honest, he’s dying to know how the story is going to wrap up. He’s already re-read several of the most recent chapters to look for anything he might have missed when he was reading quickly the first time to devour the story and find out what’s next.

Tsukishima nods, “back to the regular grind this week. I’m meeting up with Yachi almost every evening after work.”

“You two are close to the end, yeah? How many chapters left?”

“Only three,” Tsukishima says, and there’s a weight in his voice that hangs heavy in the air. “We get one extra week after, but that’s mostly just Yachi’s sketches and our letters to our readers.”

“It must be weird,” Kuroo says, thinking back on his own mix of feelings when creative projects have ended.

Tsukishima nods again, slowly this time, his lips forming a tight, neat line. “It is,” he says finally, eyes stuck to the top of his coffee mug.

“Do you know what you’re going to do next?” Immediately knowing that can be a loaded question, he adds, “I know I’d read anything you two put out, but believe me, I understand the need for a break, too.”

“A break would be nice,” Tsukishima looks up and gives a sideways sort of grin. There’s a lot going on behind his eyes, but Kuroo can’t read any of it. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem particularly celebratory. He battles within himself over whether to ask for more or let it be and see if Tsukishima willingly shares any more. He drums his fingers on the table.

He asks, “How do you feel about things coming to a close?”

Tsukishima takes a long sip from his coffee mug and settles it carefully back down on the small plate before answering. “Honestly? I’m proud of us for doing it, for making it this far. But I’m,” his lips pinch together at the corner of his face and when he lets them go, he bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. “I’m waiting to feel happy about it.”

Kuroo’s not sure what to do with that reply. Coming from Tsukishima, it’s a big, vulnerable opening into how he’s actually thinking. Kuroo chest swells knowing that Tsukishima trusts him with that information. He hopes he’s actually earned it, just as much as he wishes he had the perfect thing to say in response. But he has trouble connecting with that emotion. Finishing an EP was all joy, all _thank god it’s over now let’s get it out there.._. _after we consume all the booze in Tora’s apartment_. Clearly finishing a story is different, at least for Tsukishima.

So, with a soft smile on his face, he waits. Like he’s learned to do over the past few weeks, he gives Tsukishima space to think and speak again when he’s ready. 

“Yachi and I have been reaching out to agents to represent us moving forward,” he says after a long while, his eyes glued to the people passing by the windows of the shop. “We’ve done alright on our own, better than alright, but we’d like to,” he pauses. Kuroo watches as his face shifts through subtle changes in his expression. It’d be easy to miss, but Kuroo’s studying him, watching the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way he bites his bottom lip when he’s thinking.

Tsukishima turns his head and looks back towards the menu. “We’d like to really see what we can do.”

“I think that sounds fantastic,” Kuroo smiles.

Tsukishima’s eyes dart to him and Kuroo searches his face for hints of whether or not that was the right thing to say, especially when it’s clear that this is a topic Tsukishima struggles to talk about. But then the corner of his mouth tilts upwards into a slight smile, small but there.

Chest warm and full, Kuroo continues, “It takes a lot of guts to go for it, you know? You’re putting yourselves out there and that can be scary. And frustrating.” He chuckles. “Believe me, I know.”

“It is _extremely_ frustrating,” Tsukishima’s smile grows into a knowing grin. “Either we’re outright rejected or we’re told that our work warrants deeper consideration, but that it’s going to take four months or more before the agent has the time.”

“A lot of _hurry up and wait_."

Tsukishima nods, humming along in agreement.

Kuroo’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he ignores it. “About a year ago, Glory Days did something similar,” he starts, hoping to empathize. “We aggressively put all our efforts into hunting down a label that would sign us, but we didn’t get anywhere.”

He pauses to sip on his drink, the memories of that time coming back in bits and pieces. “It was a struggle and it caused a lot of tension in the band. Ultimately we decided to pause and keep going on our own, but that decision was far from unanimous and I think -- I think some of the members wish we hadn’t given up -- _temporarily_ given up.”

His phone vibrates again and he quickly presses a button so it’ll stop moving and making that low-rumbling sound.

“I’ve thought about giving up,” Tsukishima admits, “but Yachi is still so optimistic.”

His phone vibrates again and, this time, even Tsukishima notices, an eyebrow quirking up in question.

“Sorry, I’ll silence it. Probably just--”

He whips out his phone, ready to strangle whoever is interrupting his wonderful morning. It’s Tora.

 **[07:47]:** you better be dying

 **Tora [7:47]:** dude PICK UP

He looks up at Tsukishima apologetically. He replies by shrugging and looking out the window towards the street.

 **[07:47]:** can’t. On a date.

 **Tora [07:47]:** in the morning? GET IT. but really pick up. BIG NEWS.

 **[07:47]:** not like that, ugh, just - I can’t

Kuroo drums his fingers on the table, taps his foot, trying to make a decision.

Tsukishima’s gaze falls back on him and he raises one eyebrow. “What’s got you all jittery?”

“Besides how good you look in that sweater?” He chuckles, softening the blow of what’s next. “It’s band stuff. It’ll be over faster if I just call back, yell at him, and then run back here. That okay? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

Kuroo stands up so quickly his chair nearly tips backwards and he makes it out the front door in just a few steps, call already in progress before he reaches the chilly air outside.

“What’s the news? You have, like, five seconds, go.”

He hears a loud inhale and then Tora’s voice comes screaming in from the other end, speaking quickly with absolutely no pauses. “A member of another band saw us the other night at a show and liked us. They’re like the real deal, got a label and everything, Kuroo. So anyway, they shared our stuff with the rest of their band and they’re about to do a short tour down south, but the band they chose to go with them to help spread out the costs had to pull out because two of the members were dating and then there was some cheating and they exploded, or whatever. But they are asking if we, if Glory Days wants to open for them.”

It takes Kuroo several moments to process, his brain putting together the information gradually until it clicks into place. “They want us… to open for them? Like in a real show?”

“Shows,” Tora repeats, stressing the plurality of the word. “They already had a small tour planned for Osaka, Kyoto, Hiroshima, some other places, and they’re asking us. Man, this could be it.”

“How? When? Also, what - just - why us?”

“I don’t know. Luck? Fuck, we’ve been trying so hard to do it on our own, but this could be our first real way to get out there, besides youtube, besides streaming our EPs, besides playing shows in our same favorite five basement bars all the time.”

“I, yeah, it is. Holy shit, Tora. This is big.” There’s a pinch in his stomach, a gut feeling, and he can’t tell if it’s wholly good or bad.

“I know! And it’s short notice. They’d need us in three weeks.”

That gives Kuroo immediate pause. “Everyone has jobs, I don’t know if we all can--”

“I thought we could all meet tonight to talk it over. All of us, together.”

Kuroo nods even though Tora can’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that. I need to think, too. I got clients lined up, I’d have to, shit. I don’t know. I’d have to hear way more details before I decide, but--”

Tora’s voice is softer now, but it’s no less powerful when he says, “This is big.”

“This is big,” Kuroo repeats, feeling the weight of those words on his tongue.

There’s a few more lines of nonsense exchanged between them, then he’s hanging up and walking back into the coffee shop feeling different. It must show on his face because the second he sits down, Tsukishima’s eyeing him strangely.

“Everything… okay?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo starts, still a little dazed, “great, I think. I - we, uh - Glory Days might have just - no, we did - we got an offer to tour with another band, no one crazy famous, but bigger than us - they have a label behind them and everything. And - I’m,” he looks up, a weak smile in place, “I’m not sure what to do with all of that.”

The way that Tsukishima takes his time to thoughtfully think it over, his hands wrapped around his mug and his lips pinched together in thought, warms Kuroo’s heart. _He’s not firing off just any response. He’s thinking about it because I think he knows I care what he thinks_.

Just in case, though, Kuroo adds, “What would you do?” He stares across the table.

“If it’s what I wanted,” he says slowly, each word carrying a weight that Kuroo feels in his chest. The noise in the rest of the cafe has slipped away into silence as Kuroo focuses only on Tsukishima and the way he’s staring back, eyes locked with Kuroo’s. “I would go for it.”

 

***

 

Later that night, stuffed into Alisa’s tiny studio apartment, the band talks. When they arrived, Alisa, being the wonderful host she always is, made them all tea so they could sit around her coffee table in her tiny living space and seriously talk about the future of the band. The tea has long since grown cold, forgotten as the band balances the excitement of the opportunity with the reality of acting on it.

Tora’s already all-in. He’s practically got his bags packed and ready. Soga’s right there with him agreeing with Tora that “a chance like this only comes around once.”

Oyori’s excited, but their brows furrow with worry over the financial aspect. There’s hotel rooms to pay for, buses, food - the travel expenses add up and it’s not like any of them are rolling in money. Alisa nods along in agreement, adding that taking time off from work could hurt them in the long-run, especially with so little notice.

With that, Kuroo has to agree. He’s already looked at the next few weeks in his calendar and knows he have to move clients or, worse, hand them off to someone else in the shop. He’s had a hard enough time building a clientele that to pass some of them off could damage him in the future, but--

“Even with all of that - and trust me, I absolutely feel on every level where you two are coming from - I can’t help but feel like if we say no to this, that we’ll regret it.”

Kuroo expects some outburst of agreement from Tora, but instead, the whole band sits there in a heavily silence. It’s the strangest mix of emotions in this room and everyone’s faces reflect that. A few years ago, Kuroo thought that when an opportunity like this presented itself, it’d be met with a round of drinks and a lot of celebration. But they’re all a little older now, a little more burdened with responsibilities and the wisdom and fear that comes from learning from past mistakes.

Beside him on the floor where she’s sitting cross legged, Alisa reaches over and slips her palm over Kuroo’s, giving it a little pat before it settles there on top of his. She sighs before she says, “I keep saying the same thing inside my head. I can’t shake it.”

“Then we’ll make it work,” Soga adds, sitting up straighter and smacking both hands on the tiny table, his eyes meeting every one of them around the circle in Alisa’s room.

Oyori nods slowly, “we can figure it out. Together, we’ll come up with something.”

Tora stands abruptly and Kuroo feels his heart rate pick up, ready for whatever inspiring nonsense is going to enthusiastically spill from his mouth. _Tora’s exactly what we need right now._

He seems to brace his whole body before he pumps his fist into the air and shouts, “Let’s do this! We gotta stop being so old and boring!” He points to the rest of the group, his eyes alight with passion. “Glory Days is going on the road!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) oh my goodness, I felt some _things_ about how to follow-up chapter 18, but the plot continues!
> 
> This is, after all, about more than just the two of them smooshing faces (even though all I ever want them to do at any given moment is smoosh faces and be in love). There's still a lot of story planned and I'm excited about their potential to be that supportive creative couple that is there for each other just like HOW THEY WERE FOR EACH OTHER WITH VOLLEYBALL AND I *takes a deep breath * sorry, I, uh, get screamy when I think about krtsk too intensely for too long. I'm sure you understand.
> 
> (๑ゝω╹๑) Hope you're still enjoying the journey!


	20. Stress. Celebration.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima thinks, he chats with Kuroo, sees Yamaguchi, and reaches an important milestone with Yachi.

Tsukishima’s out on his balcony, white headphones on his ears, a new collaboration between one of his favorite songwriters and a lo-fi artist he likes playing on repeat. He’s three plays deep already and it’s shocking how well the end of the song flows into the beginning again and again, like it was meant to be obsessively enjoyed.

He stands up from where he was leaning on the railing to twist to the side and tap the burnt ash from the end of his cigarette. It’s the first he’s had in a while and he’s relishing that skin-deep tingle he’s getting down in his fingers. Mixed with the chilly bite of the evening air around him, it’s a strangely welcome feeling.

There’s only one more left in the pack he bought over two months ago. He saves them for stress and celebrations. Tonight it’s a little bit of both.

Last night he worked with Yachi at her apartment until it was nearly time for the last train. Even after he got home, it was all but impossible to shut his mind off and sleep. So, this morning at work he made a series of mistakes that left him feeling guilty and stupid. If there’s one thing Tsukishima hates more than most things, it’s looking dumb in front of other people.

But on the other hand, the end of the comic is in sight. They’ve been obsessively working on the final touches and going back through old chapters to make sure nothing’s been forgotten and everything is as perfect as they can make it. And, for the first time in a while, Tsukishima is really proud of something.

He planned the tattoo he got at Kuroo’s shop when the comic got picked up. He finally got it when the comic was doing well and they were reaching the halfway point. Now that it’s ending, he feels like he’s earned the ink on his skin.

They’re not done yet, but it’s in sight.

Stress. Celebration.

He knocks the ash into the tray next to him as the song begins again.

He’s also been around entirely too many people lately, another reason to indulge once in the vice. Tsukishima’s been called in to the office more lately. He’s spending the time he’s not at work with Yachi. And when he does get a moment, he’s surprising himself by wanting to wake up even earlier so he can grab coffee with Kuroo because he genuinely wanted to see him that much.

He’s in desperate need of some alone time.

Again - Stress. Celebration.

 _Kuroo_.

He takes a long drag and watches it flow out from him into the evening sky.

This thing with Kuroo, whatever it is, whatever it may or may not turn into, doesn’t feel at all like how his last relationship began.

Sure, the initial events were somewhat similar. There was flirting, Tsukishima shoved his tongue down his mouth at a party at a friend’s house, he pulled away for a week, he was pursued, and then somewhere in that mess, they slapped a label on it and called it _dating_. He was loud and fun and brought out sides of Tsukishima that he didn’t know were there.

 _For two years_ , he sighs to himself. _What a fucking mess that turned out to be._

The beat’s starting to build in the song and Tsukishima closes his eyes as his body tenses, waiting for what he knows is coming next. When it drops, he feels a clenching in his chest and then a release. The vocals hit and he smiles to himself.

Besides the volume of his voice and laugh, Kuroo’s not much like his ex. _It’s like he’s, like he’s_ \-- Tsukishima struggles to find the words and when he finds something close enough, it’s not a phrase, it’s a memory.

He’s back in that gym in Tokyo being goaded into extra practice with the cackling captain that already made him have a funny feeling in his gut when he first saw him at their first practice match.

The three of them called him on his bullshit. They made him admit to himself that it wasn’t _I’m good enough at volleyball and don’t care about getting better_ but actually _I know I’ve already been eclipsed and I’m afraid of failing._  And then they helped him improve.

They gave him the tools he’d carry with him for years, helping him call himself out.It all helped him know it wasn’t _I don’t care about writing that much anymore_ but actually _If I try and fail I’ll never want to write again._

And, at least until he cut him out, Kuroo was a big part of that. He messaged Tsukishima about volleyball, sure, but also about his classwork, his friendships, his life.

When he showed up again, it felt just like being in that gym, awe-struck again by the same messy-haired, loud-mouthed, sincere and genuine man he remembered.

With one last puff, he rubs the end of the cigarette into the ash tray and he takes in the view of his neighborhood at night stretched out below him.

Being around Kuroo makes him want more.

More than just a webcomic with a less-than-perfect company.

More than his translating job.

More than --Again, he finds himself falling back on old habits, telling himself _I don’t want more from his thing with Kuroo_ . He’s been waiting for the _but actually_ to hit, but lately he’s done an excellent job of not allowing that thought to grow.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Tsukishima smiles. It’s Emi, calling for a bedtime chat.

 _How does she always know?_ He grins to himself, answering the call with a big smile. _Emi knows when I’m too far inside my own head._

“Hi there, Emi-chan. Getting ready for bed?”

 

***

 

Tsukishima’s tucked into bed, his blankets pulled up to his chin. He’s a bit too warm because he hasn’t yet bothered to take off his pajama pants like he does every night before he sleeps in just his t-shirt. But a few minutes ago, the idea of falling straight into bed seemed like the right idea. And Mister is curled up so sweetly beside him, his little chest moving up and down softly with his sleepy breaths, Tsukishima would sooner let himself catch on fire than wake his sleeping cat.

He sees the “...” of an incoming message from Kuroo. He expects it to be more of the rundown of Kuroo’s day, but --

 **Kuroo [00:31]:** what are you wearing?

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and smirks.

 **[00:31]:** nothing

 **Kuroo [00:31]:** holy shit, warn a man  
**Kuroo [00:31]:** really????

His smirk grows sharp.

 **[00:31]:** want me to prove it to you?

 **Kuroo [00:31]:** I feel like you’re fucking with me  
**Kuroo [00:31]:** but I could never forgive myself  
**Kuroo [00:32]:** if I said no   
**Kuroo [00:32]:** and it turned out to be true

Carefully raising his arm to snap a picture of him with the blankets pulled up, he sends it with the message--

 **[00:33]:** you don’t know what’s under here

 **Kuroo [00:33]:** oh my god  
**Kuroo [00:33]:** Mister looks sooooo cuuuuuute  
**Kuroo [00:33]:** look at that fluffyyyyy tummyyyyyy  
**Kuroo [00:33]:** I can’t

_Well, that was unexpected._

**[00:33]:** ah yes, please ignore the man beside him, just like my fluffy overlord demands

 **Kuroo [00:34]:** I’m like 50% in this just for access to that cat  
**Kuroo [00:34]:** but don’t worry  
**Kuroo [00:34]:** I’m also 100000% imagining what’s under those covers  
**Kuroo [00:34]:** especially because  
**Kuroo [00:34]:** I have some wonderful memories to help me out

 **[00:34]:** I’m fully clothed.

 **Kuroo [00:35]:** not in my head you’re not  
**Kuroo [00:35]:** also  
**Kuroo [00:35]:** not that it matters  
**Kuroo [00:35]:** but  
**Kuroo [00:35]:** I’m actually naked right now so--

Tsukishima makes a loud, sputtering sound in the back of his throat and Misters stirs beside him, sharing his displeasure at being disturbed.

 

***

 

Mid-week, there’s a not entirely unexpected knock on his door and Tsukishima opens it to find Yamaguchi standing on the other side.

“It’s been weeks, you stranger, now fill me in on everything that’s happening in your life or we’re no longer friends.”

“What an empty threat. Also I saw you two weekends ago.”

“Too long! Let me in because I’m holding wine and food.”

They’ve spoken all week, like they always have and always will, but it has been longer than usual since they could hang out in person. They missed it last weekend because, well, Tsukishima was otherwise occupied on Friday… and part of Saturday, which put him way behind on work with Yachi. And the whole of last week Yamaguchi had a hell week at school - lots of flu and throwing up in his second grade classroom. Yamaguchi-sensei made it out relatively unscathed but he was exhausted and there was no way Tsukishima was letting his germ-carrying body anywhere near himself or his apartment.

He figured a weeknight pop by was in the works.

Yamaguchi makes himself right at home. Mister comes right up to him, twisting unhelpfully between his legs as he makes his way to the kitchen to unpack the food. He goes through Tsukishima’s cabinets, getting out plates and wine glasses like it were his own kitchen. Tsukishima sets about clearing off the tiny table in his kitchen. It’s covered with mail, books he meant to put away, and a new bag of rocky soil for his succulents that he meant to use already, but hasn’t gotten around to repotting yet. It’s only when Yamaguchi comes over that Tsukishima remembers that a kitchen table could possibly be used for eating food.

His best friend has picked up comfort foods that don’t pair at all with the two cheap wines he brought over, but that’s what makes it perfect. Over glasses of white wine and plates of chicken wings - tons of flavors - and enough sides to feed a whole family, they catch up the way they only can in-person.

“So, what’s left with the comic? I know it’s not much. Yachi’s been sneaking me previews all week.”

“Technically, she’s not supposed to do that, but it’s been pretty obvious when she’s trying to be sneaky and send photos to you. If there’s any leaks, I’ll know who to kill.”

“Obviously,” Yamaguchi grins. “She makes sure to keep the view pretty cropped so not a whole lot is spoiled, but,” he smiles, humming happily, “I’m just so proud of you two. It’s good. Genuinely very good. This final arc has had me flipping to the next page faster than my hand can manage.”

Tsukishima scrunches up his face and looks away.

It makes Yamaguchi laugh. “You’re going to have to accept my adoration at some point. Especially because after _devouring_ each chapter, I immediately go back to the beginning and read it again, slower, so I can catch all the little details. I love it. I really do. And I know you hate when I say it out loud, but also, you secretly love it. See? That?” His best friend uses a chicken wing to point at him. “The way your eyebrows are narrowing and your nose is scrunched so hard? That tells me you love it on the inside.”

“Did you bring any napkins?”

“Obvious redirect, but fine, I’ll let you go. This time. I was done anyway. And yeah, they’re over by the bags.”

“So I take it from all your texts this week that you'll be going on no more dates, then?”

“No, not right now, anyway.” Yamaguchi sighs heavily, wiping his messy, sauce-covered fingers on a napkin. “It was fun until it wasn’t. And then,” he shrugs, “I work super hard all day and I’m around kids, loud, messy kids all day, and then I’m expected to go out and talk to another human person? That wants me to be interesting? It’s exhausting.” He chuckles, a soft little laugh puffing out.

“Plus, if you say ‘my kids’ on a first date and forget to qualify that they’re you’re students and not your actual children, it tends to derail things pretty quickly.”

Tsukishima chuckles softly. “What? People are turned off by the idea of your sixteen children? How dare.”

“Exactly! Don’t talk to me or my nine sons and seven daughters ever again.” Yamaguchi laughs, too. He pauses to take a few more bites, covering his fingers in the sticky-sweet hot sauce of his favorite flavor of wings again. When he looks back up across the table, he’s wearing a different expression. “Also that app was -- look, you know that I’m not _not_ into sex, but I’m also, like, oh get that look off your face, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi points an accusatory finger at him. “We’re adults. We can talk about sex.”

“I can’t. And you can’t judge me when your fingers are covered in hot sauce.”

“I can and I will. Anyway, people on that app are way more interested in hook ups and sex is fine, but I don’t _need_ it. But I’m also not looking for something super long-term yet, either. I don’t know.” He shrugs again, his smile faltering a little. Then a flash of something passes through his eyes and his gaze turns back to Tsukishima, his soft smile growing wicked. “I also don’t know what happened with you and Kuroo last weekend.”

“Not your business.”

“It’s absolutely my business. You’ve could have texted me!”

“No,” Tsukishima says firmly. “There’s no way I’m going to let _that_ be shared in words that can be seen forever. Also I’m not telling you.”

Yamaguchi wiggles his eyebrows and wiggles sauce-covered fingers in Tsukishima’s direction. “That already tells me enough.”

“But you’re not going to let up, are you?”

“You know me better than to think I’d ever give up.”

“Exactly,” he lets out a breath in a long sigh. “Fine, but I’m going to need more wine.”

“I’m on it.” Yamaguchi gets up to place the second bottle he brought on the table. The first isn’t empty just yet, but there’s a gleam in his eye that tells Tsukishima that that second bottle won’t be full much longer.

On the outside, he's scowling. Inside, Tsukishima resigns himself to talking about this at some point in the evening. Yamaguchi gets what he wants. It's how this works.

Later, with a bottle and a half gone and their stomachs filled and happy, they take their usual positions on the couch. Tsukishima sits on one end, Yamaguchi on the other and Mister, that traitor is curled up in his best friend's lap.

Yamaguchi strokes the spot between Mister's ears with one hand while the other holds a glass of wine. He gestures with the glass as he speaks, a little looser and less tense from his day than he was when he arrived.

"--I mean, I thought I was ready to date again, but it's tiring. I want to meet new people but I'm not one for a quick hookup, but I'm also not ready for another long-term commitment."

“After--” Tsukishima lets his voice trail off. He’s looking right at his friend and it’s one of those rare moments when Yamaguchi looks away, unable to make eye contact for a moment.

Yamaguchi pays a little extra attention to the soft, fuzzy parts of Mister’s head as he says, “exactly. They really did a number on us, didn’t they?” He puffs out a soft, forced laugh.

Tsukishima hums in agreement. After all, it’s not just him who suffered at the end of a long relationship he thought was going somewhere. Right around the same time, Yamaguchi found himself on the confused and devastated side of a breakup he didn’t see coming. The only bright side they could find was that, at the very least, both breakups happened within a few weeks of each other. First Yamaguchi then Tsukishima three weeks later.

He leans backwards so he can settle a bit more into the comfy corner of his couch. “At least we’re able to be miserable together.”

“And being better off together, too.”

“Cheers to that.” Tsukishima raises his glass slightly and Yamaguchi mirrors him on the other side.

His friend sighs, long and dramatic, tilting back his head. “Ah, Tsukki, you have commitment fears. And I’m beautiful and have commitment fears.”

“What? I’m not beautiful?”

“Tsukki. Please.” Yamaguchi sits back up, gesturing to his face with the hand that’s holding the wine glass. “You see what I’m working with. And I don’t see you taking home pictures of your face drawn by your fans everyday.”

“Eight-year-olds have low standards.”

“Rude. I’m going to remember that the next time you ask me if you look alright.”

“When do I _ever_ do that?”

Back and forth, they bicker like only best friends who have become closer than brothers can. Eventually they put on a movie, the next in the horrible series Yamaguchi is making them watch. Somewhere in there Yamaguchi convinces him to go looking for another bottle in his kitchen, knowing full well he already saw a half-empty bottle in Tsukishima’s fridge.

Tsukishima looks at the time, decides it’s early enough, but still can’t help wondering just how Yamaguchi gets him to agree with everything.

The action parts of the movie have given way to the writers’ pitiful attempts at character development, and the sound is down so Yamaguchi can talk over the painful dialogue.

“So, have you had enough yet?”

“Of this movie franchise? Yes.”

“Too bad, we’re watching them all. But also no. Have you had enough wine?”

“Yes, I’m not opening another bottle. We’re already almost done with the one I got out of my fridge and I have to work tomorrow. Also,” he laughs, “don’t you have to, I don’t know, teach kids to read tomorrow?”

Yamaguchi groans, momentarily disrupting Mister’s nap in his lap. “It’s fine. I’ll take a vitamin before bed. Clear ups all my bad choices every time. No!” He yells suddenly, sitting up straighter to stare Tsukishima down. Mister yowls in protest. “Have you had enough to tell me about your date?”

“No.”

“But you’re going to.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Tsukishima’s already resigned himself to his fate and, luckily, the white wine has lessened his tether on the more stressful parts of reality. “It was nice,” he says simply.

Yamaguchi cheers and Mister finally jumps off his lap and wanders towards Tsukishima’s room. “That’s already so much better than what you’ve said about past dates.”

“I barely said anything.” Tsukishima’s glad for the relative darkness in the room. There’s only the light from the TV and the light slipping around the corner from his kitchen.

“You said _nice._  Not fine, not okay, _nice._  Did you kiss him?”

“I kissed him weeks ago. You know that.”

“Ooh, so that’s a yes. Kissed him again - check. How about--” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Now who can’t say the word _sex?_ ”

“I don’t know, just seemed like too much in the moment. Well?”

“Not answering that still.”

“By the laws of our friendship, please give me something.”

Tsukishima makes a low, grumbling sound in his throat. He turns away, but he can feel Yamaguchi’s stare. “We did more than,” he pauses, hating that these words are leaving his mouth, “more than kissing, but less than _everything_.”

Yamaguchi claps his hands. “Fantastic news. Was that so hard? Now I can celebrate with you in the fact that you got to relieve a little tension.”

“Stop it.”

“Got to _release_ yourself a little.”

The next phrase he’s said so many times in his life, it flows out like breathing. He laughs, “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

As Yamaguchi laughs beside him, Tsukishima turns up the volume and lets a car explosion tune him out.

They watch it all the way to the credits, and after Tsukishima shares his last tirade of complaints about the plot holes, Yamaguchi shuts off the TV and looks straight at him. His eyes are kind, the same child-like eyes his best friend has always had, but his lips are pinched together in a tight line. Tsukishima waits, knowing something is on his mind.

“Do you know how you feel about Kuroo?”

“No,” Tsukishima says instinctively. It’s not wrong. He hasn’t sorted it out entirely yet. He knows he enjoys spending time with him, but he’s not sure what kind of future, if any, he sees in it.

“That’s fine,” Yamaguchi smiles, “you take your time.”

Tsukishima grunts softly, furrowing his brows and looking back at the now-blank TV. _Only Yamagauchi could ever get away with this_.

“Well, if you don’t know how you feel, do you have a sense for where where this is heading? Or where you want it to go?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“No, we don’t.” Yamaguchi’s voice has taken on that soft edge it gets when he’s trying to pull Tsukishima along through the murky waters of his own emotions. “But,” he chuckles quietly, “consider it free therapy, best friend style.” Yamaguchi pulls his knees up to his chest and drapes a blanket from the back of the couch over top of him. He tilts his head to listen. He looks so innocent, like he's simply asking questions, but Tsukishima knows him better. They both know each other so well at this point. Talking to Yamaguchi is like talking to the other half of his brain sometimes.

Tsukishima sighs, turning back to meet his friend’s eyes. “I don’t know. I just-- for now I---”

“You look constipated,” Yamaguchi interrupts, a wide grin on his face.

“Shut up. I’m trying to share my sincere feelings.”

He laughs. “And you look like you’re in pain.”

“I am!” Tsukishima glares back, fighting a grin of his own. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, lacing his fingers together tightly in his lap to keep him from continuing to pick at a loose thread on the edge of his couch pillow. “Regarding the whole situation, the hesitation is two-fold.”

“God, Tsukki, we’re talking about how you feel about a boy, we’re not in a business meeting.”

“The hesitation is two-fold,” he repeats, louder this time and tossing the pillow in Yamaguchi’s direction. “First, I’ve still not worked out exactly how I feel.”

Yamaguchi raises an eyebrow, but Tsukishima chooses to ignore it.

“I know that I, for some reason, enjoying hanging out with him, but anything beyond that is a big unknown. Second, everything with his band is picking up. It’s already evident as we try to find a time when we’re both free. I’m busy now, but I know it’s ending soon. He’s busy now and, presumably, it’s only going to get worse.”

“And you’re worried about being left behind again?”

Tsukishima nods, turning away. He still hates saying it out loud, but thankfully he doesn’t have to with Yamaguchi.

Before that breakup, he thought breakups were a mess, sure, but that they were definitive, needed. Tsukishima thought that people broke up because they fought too much, didn’t love each other, or if someone cheated. It happened because things were too messed up to save.

But that’s not what happened. His last relationship maybe had the potential to be saved, but Tsukishima couldn’t take the situation anymore. He made the choice to leave. He knows it was the right thing for him at the time, but he still… wonders.

“I don’t like being the person sitting by the phone always waiting for a call.”

His ex took a temporary contract overseas. With a year and a half between them, they decided to try and make it work. Then, he extended the contract and Tsukishima couldn’t help but feel forgotten. Sure, it was a good opportunity, but wasn’t he important, too? All Tsukishima had at that point was work and friends, no comic yet, so the way things worked out, he was the one sitting at home, moping and waiting to get that once-a-day video call. They both made an effort but one night, sitting by his phone like usual, Tsukishima decided he didn’t want to do it anymore. When the phone rang, he broke up with him and, aside from a few choice screaming matches afterwards, they haven’t spoken since.

He expects Yamaguchi to say something to cheer him up, to remind him that the present doesn’t have to match the past. Instead, though, all he hears is a quiet, “I know, Tsukki,” and somehow that stings even more.

Moments pass as the credits finish rolling, both of them stuck in whatever silent stew they’ve let their minds slip into.

Yamaguchi’s the first to break it. “Well, he made you smile, didn’t he? That’s worth something.” Tsukishima watches as his mouth stretches into a wide grin. “That’s worth a whole lot.”

He feels his own cheeks rise in a small smile of his own. “It really is.” He feels the sincerity of the moment hit him like a sack of bricks and he has to say something to break the moment, but he also wants to be there for his friend, to say something that he needs to hear, too. “Someone will make you smile.”

“Oh, but Tsukki, you already do.” He sticks out his tongue and makes a goofy face, tossing the pillow back towards Tsukishima.

“That’s it. Get out of my house,” he laughs.

“You’re in luck, then. Because I _do_ need to teach kids to read tomorrow so I should be heading out.” He swings his legs off the couch. “Lucky for you, I’m going to insist you walk me to the station because I am very sleepy and wine tipsy and not entirely ready for friend time to end yet.”

 

***

 

The walk back from the train station leaves him feeling chilly and more than ready for bed, so Tsukishima showers as quickly as he can and gets ready for bed. He’s humming contentedly once he’s switched into warm pajamas and slipped his feet into fuzzy socks. He still feels a bit lighter on his feet than he would normally at this point in the evening. Cheap wine served in good company will do that to him.

Once he’s in his room, he curves his body around where Mister’s already curled up in the center of the bed and settles in to see whatever Kuroo’s sent him, ready for a long string of texts about his day. As soon as his head hits his pillow, the chat is open and he feels excitement in his fingers.

It’s just a few messages from about an hour ago. He must still be busy. They don’t usually chat this early.

 **Kuroo [21:02]:** I have the biggest moral conundrum every time someone asks me to do a stupid tattoo  
**Kuroo [21:02]:** I mean, I’ll do it  
**Kuroo [21:02]:** And I’ll do my best  
**Kuroo [21:02]:** To turn that trash into something good  
**Kuroo [21:02]:** But whyyyyyyy

Tsukishima smiles, lifting the phone so it’s hovering just above his face. His arms feel heavy even as his thoughts still feel just a bit soft around the edges. He starts typing a reply about regrettable tattoos when the screen changes.

It takes a moment for his wine-warm brain to realize that he’s calling someone.

He’s calling Kuroo.

He smacks his fingers into the _end call_ button as soon as it registers.

Holding his breath, he waits to see if Kuroo calls him back.

A few seconds pass.

A minute passes.

 _Safe,_  he thinks, just in time for his phone to ring. It buzzes in his hands once, twice as he panics over what to do. On the third buzz, he answers.

“Oh, hey Kuroo.” _Smooth,_  he cringes at himself.

“H-hey. Did you call me?”

“I guess I did,” he tries to sound casual while his chest pinches together from the awkward position in which he’s stupidly put himself. “I was reading your texts and must have hit the call button.”

“Ah, okay. Well, you accidentally caught me at a pretty good time.” Tsukishima can hear shuffling in the background. 

“I’m just leaving our practice space and, if you wanted to, you could join me on my walk back to the subway station. It’s too late for my bus and now I gotta take the long way home.” Kuroo laughs softly before grunting and the phone line crackles like he’s struggling with something on the other end.

His chest is still tight with the embarrassment of calling him out of the blue, _but it’s nice to hear his voice_.

“What? You want me to keep you company or something?” He asks, all sarcasm, but he knows his tone is too sleepy, too content from hanging out with Yamaguchi to have any bite.

He closes his eyes and listens.

“That was the plan, yeah. You’re better company than the music I was going to listen to?”

“And what angsty, screamy _very cool_ music was that going to be?”

“ABBA.”

“What?” Tsukishima’s eyes fly open. “Like, Swedish pop sensation ABBA? Like _Mamma Mia_ ABBA?”

“See? You know!”

Tsukishima huffs out a quiet laugh against his pillow. “Not what I expected.”

“Love to keep you guessing.” _How,_ he thinks, _how can I possibly hear the winking in his voice?_ “Anyway, it’s great music to keep you going when you’re way too tired and,” he’s speaking so quickly, Tsukishima has to focus to keep up. It’s not too hard, though. Comfortable and cozy in bed, he likes having Kuroo in his ear. “I’ve been trying to convince the band that we should do a cover of a pop song for the tour.”

"That's...something."

“Something excellent. You forgot to finish your sentence. Jeeze, Tsukki.”

There’s something about the way that he purrs his nickname at the end of that sentence that sends an excited tremor through his body. He brings his knees up closer to his body, still being careful not to bother Mister. He feels the pull of sleep tugging at his eyelids, but the rest of him feels very much awake with Kuroo this close as he rests his phone on the side of his head not currently melting in to his pillow.

“I said what I said.” Tsukishima yawns loudly. Kuroo goes quiet on the other end for a moment. Tsukishima won’t say it out loud, but he wants to hear him talk again. About anything at this point. He just -- maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s how he feels after he gets some uninterrupted best friend time, but _I want to listen to him talk to me, just me right now._ “So, you going to tell me about your day?”

“Now who needs company?”

“I can hang up. I called you by accident anyway.”

“Alright, go ahead, but then you won’t hear about today’s adventures and I know how much you enjoy that.”

“Do you now?” He retorts.

“Obviously. Why else would you let me describe every detail of my lunch to you everyday?”

“Maybe I don’t read it.”

“Nah. I know you do. I know you read every word.”

 _So help me, I do. I know exactly what Kuroo’s eaten and where he’s been every day this week_. “Believe whatever you want.” He adds a tired sigh to make a point.

“Alright, so, you ready?” Kuroo barrels forward, ignoring the snark.

“Go for it, but I might fall asleep. Yamaguchi made me drink enough wine to put me to bed early tonight.”

“Aw, I’ll be your bedtime story.”

“I’m hanging up.”

On the other end, Kuroo waits. Tsukishima knows he’s waiting for him to prove that he’s bluffing, that he won’t actually hang up. And he’s right. He stays on the other end, lifting his blankets and getting comfortable underneath them.

“You still there?” Kuroo asks.

Tsukishima gives a gruff sound of acknowledgement.

“Great. So. This morning when I woke up, I put an everything bagel in my toaster and then ground beans from this new brand of coffee I’m trying. It’s a light roast, so not my normal flavor profile, but it’s from a shop I went to with some people from the shop last week and --”

Eventually Tsukishima does, in fact, fall asleep to the sound of Kuroo’s voice. He’s startled when he hears keys jingling and an old door creaking open. Slowly, his eyes blink open and he’s momentarily confused because his lights are on, his pajamas are still on, and there’s a phone smashed against his cheek.

He must make some sort of confused sound because, on the other end, Kuroo says softly, “ready for bed?”

Tsukishima finds that he can’t make words. He grunts again and Kuroo chuckles. “You sound so sleepy. I can let you go.”

“You,” he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “you stayed on the phone with me after I fell asleep?” Tsukishima asks, even more confused than before.

“Well yeah. I wasn’t going to hang up on you. Plus, I don’t know, even asleep you were nice company. I’m home now, by the way.”

Flashes of what he imagines Kuroo’s apartment to look like cross his mind. “You rode the subway with me, silent and asleep, on the phone?”

“You snored a little.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Sure you don’t,” Kuroo laughs. In the background, Tsukishima hears him putting things down in home. “Do you want to hang out this weekend?”

Tsukishima smiles against his pillow and nods his head sleepily. “Mmmhmm,” he replies.

“Good. I’ll let you sleep. Sweet dreams, Tsukki.”

“Mmm,” he hums, “g’night Kuroo.”

 

***

 

Sitting across from him at her dinner table that’s littered with sketchbook pages and marked-up pages of story, Yachi turns off her tablet and sets it down with finality, hitting the wood surface with a heavy thud.

He glances up at her, eyes focused just above the text on his screen he’s been staring at for almost an hour now.

“Tsukki, I think we should stop.”

He leans back, trying to loosen his tense shoulder muscles. He rolls his neck to get rid of some of the stiffness. “Yea, let’s call it a night.” He smiles over at her, expecting a little nod or a happy sound of agreement, but her jaw is set and her eyes look watery.

“Not for the night.” She shakes her head. “We’re done, aren’t we?” She asks and the words hang heavy in the air. When she repeats herself, it’s not a question anymore. “We’re done.”

Tsukishima feels something odd well up in his chest. The story’s done - murder’s solved, friendships saved. It’s been done for some time, but they’ve been working hard on revisions, on making sure everything is just right, and now --

He takes a deep breath. On the exhale, he agrees, “we’re done.” He says it with disbelief. Surely there must be more to do, more to check, more to change. His brain fights the realization as his chest tightens and he fights to swallow down whatever is welling up. _It’s the end_. He looks down at his laptop, still open, and he knows. Tsukishima knows she’s right.

Once more he swallows down whatever is threatening to spill out of him and he looks back up at Yachi. The moment he sees her, a gentle, knowing smile finds its way onto his face. “Yachi, are you crying?”

“No,” she sniffs, and she’s right, there’s no tears. Yet. But he’s seen this look enough times to know. “I feel very, very happy and very, very sad at the same time.”

Tsukishima nods, feeling an unwelcome sting behind his own eyes.

Abruptly, Yachi stands, sniffing loudly and wiping her sweater sleeve along her eyes. “We should go out.”

“What?”

“We need to celebrate. Just us tonight. We can do something big with all our friends later when it’s out, but tonight, we need to go out and celebrate that we did this together.”

Tsukishima tries to subtly cover his own sniffling by clearing his throat at the same time but, judging by the look he gets from Yachi, he does a poor job. _She knows me too well by now_. He softly smiles up at her and nods. “It’s late, but we haven’t eaten and,” his smile grows, “you’re right. This is something that deserves celebrating.”

Yachi clasps her hands together in front of her, a toothy grin fighting back against the mix of happy and sad tears still trying to escape her eyes. With an excitable bounce, she announces, “Great! I want burgers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is finally here! (๑^ں^๑)  
> Life stuff took over for a bit there and writing for fun had to take a backseat (which is the WORST, writing is the fun part of my dayyyyyy), but I'm back!
> 
> Thank you all for still reading and enjoying!
> 
> Also, the only music note today is that I've had ABBA's "take a chance on me" stuck in my head for, like, three days. Can't you imagine a punky, alternative cover of that being fantastic? Alisa could so do it.


	21. I thought you were really cute back then.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo moves on like a runaway train of positivity, talks to bkak, and has a nice, little breakfast date with a certain blond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOODNESS. HOW ARE YOU?  
> HERE'S AN OFFERING. I HOPE YOU SMILE.

It doesn’t hit him until it’s past two in the morning and Kuroo is a little sweaty from all the tossing and turning in bed that he realizes that he hasn’t slowed down at all since dinner at his dad’s on Sunday. 

Now it’s Thursday. And though he feels the strong pull of sleep, it’s just not happening.

This week, if he wasn’t at the shop, then he was at Glory Day’s practice space. Or meeting with the band they’re touring with and their managers. Or at Kenma’s. He’s fallen asleep over there already once this week and Kenma, bless him, let him sleep, just barely in the background of his stream - apparently the fans got a kick out of it.

His brain is like a speeding bullet train and he can’t shut it off. His body is simmering with excitement every second of the day, yet he somehow expects to shut it all off when he’s had his nightly text with Tsukishima and wants to suddenly wind down and force his brain to be quiet.

The thoughts in his mind race from one place to the next. Changes to a chord arrangement on a song to try tomorrow. Tsukishima sending him pictures of Mister. Re-thinking his shop schedule to make sure he has time to eat lunch in between clients. Tsukishima calling him last night. Embarrassment over talking in his sleep on Kenma’s stream and his friend definitely both pointing it out to his followers and bringing the mic over so they could listen. Tsukishima and the sounds he makes when they’re kissing. Wondering if he’ll make it to the gym this week. Tsukishima. Tsukishima. Tsukishima.

A lot of Tsukishima.

There’s always a hint of Kenma in the back of his head, gently reminding him to consider if this is the right time. It isn’t, but when is there ever a _right_ time? If he works hard enough, everything with Glory Days is going to get bigger and that means busier. _But I’m carving out time_. He thinks of all the times _Tsukishima?_  is written in red in his planner.

He’s tried, but excited. He’s exhausted, but happy.

Kuroo kicks his blankets off his body and sits up in his bed. Slipping his legs to the side, he stands on sleepy, shaky legs and scoots his way to the kitchen. _I need a cup of tea, that herbal junk dad buys me too much of_ , he thinks with confidence, _then I’ll be able to sleep._

 

_***_

 

“Hey, hey, hey! You look human today!” Bokuto yells over video chat the second the call connects. Akaashi is right next to him on the couch with no space between them. Whenever Kuroo points it out, Akaashi likes to say that it’s so they both fit into the camera view, but Kuroo knows them better than that. _Not an inch between them if they can help it._

Kuroo chuckles with his chin resting on the couch pillow he’s hugging to his chest. “I just showered. It helps.”

“How’s practice going?” Akaashi asks, taking a sip of tea.

“Excellent! We never had a reason to prioritize this much practice before,” Kuroo replies, “but it’s really paying off. We’re much more consistent this week.”

“Well, we bought our tickets for the show near us.” The corners of Akaashi’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

“So much!” Bokuto adds, leaning forward. “We’ve been to the venue before. Only the cool bands play there.”

Kuroo grins. “Thanks, Bo. So, how’s your team holding up this week?”

“So much attitude,” his eyes widen as he tosses his head back and laughs. “It’s like wrangling Atsumu-kun but I got, like, four more of him.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been adding new plays and they’re coming together well as a team. You remember that one play you and I thought up where--” Bokuto launches into every detail of the complex strategy, complete with excitable hand motions and sound effects. Kuroo listens and laughs along, but his eyes keep drifting towards Akaashi, now off to the side, his gaze wandering away from the camera instead of following Bokuto with his regular obvious and gross levels of affection for his fiance.

“How’s Kuroo’s perfect-life-planner holding up?” Akaashi asks once the story ends and Bokuto slouches back against the couch with a heavy sigh after talking for so long without taking enough breaths.

Kuroo shifts his weight to one side and stretches to reach the stack of notebooks on the floor by his couch. He returns to the video call waving his planner like a badge of honor. “Keeping my shit together.”

“Looking good, man,” Bokuto says encouragingly.

Akaashi raises an eyebrow, doubtful, but even though Kuroo notices that his eyes keep darting around the room.

“I mean, I’m busy,” Kuroo adds. _I now eat most of my meals while briskly walking from one place to the_ next, “but I’m handling it. Got good things on the horizon, so it makes it easy to keep barreling ahead”

“Really good things!” Bokuto agrees. “I’m excited for you. All of you, really, the whole band.”

This time Akaashi’s eyes don’t even drift back to the screen. He’s still and even Bokuto notices. 

Bokuto turns his head, an eyebrow arching as a bit of his bottom lip sticks out in a worried pout. “Is it--” he starts to ask, letting his eyes finish the rest.

Akaashi nods. “I’m turning in the forms tomorrow.”

“Oh babe,” Bokuto throws his arms around him, nuzzling his crazy hair against Akaashi’s neck. “I’m proud of you. It’s the right thing to do.”

Kuroo gives them a moment to be, well, exactly the kind of clingy couple Bokuto and Akaashi always are, then he softly interjects, “I’m missing something here.”

Akaashi’s eyes snap to the camera, like he forgot Kuroo was there. “I’ve got some news. Good news.” He pinches his lips together for a second. “I think?”

Bokuto’s still resting his head on his shoulder. He nods awkwardly, “it’s good. I know it will be.”

Kuroo gives Akaashi a breath to collect himself. He closes his eyes gently and when he reopens them there’s a serene smile at the corner of his mouth. “Being engaged has, naturally, made me start thinking more about the future and,” Akaashi casts a side glance to Bokuto who gives him a small smile.

Kuroo sees Bokuto’s hand on Akashi's knee give a little squeeze. “I’m thinking of dropping out of law school.” He sighs, pinching his lips together, then adds, “No, not thinking about it. I’ve decided. I was stalling for weeks, but the time came to decide or pay for my next term, and I just turned in the last of my withdraw paperwork today.”

There’s about a hundred questions in Kuroo’s mind, but he doesn’t want to to ask why, not right now, he mostly just wants to know, “will it make you happy?”

“I think so.” Akaashi smiles at the corner of his mouth. It’s clear from the cracks his usually careful demeanor that this is something that is heavily weighing on him.

Bokuto leans in towards Akaashi and presses a loud kiss on his cheek. When he pulls back he’s grinning wide. “It’s gonna be great, babe.” _At least Akaashi’s in good hands_.

“Any ideas for what’s next?” Kuroo asks nervously.

“That’s what’s been stressing me out the most,” Akaashi weakly smiles, “but you know how relentlessly encouraging Kou is. I--,” he pauses and leans into the circles Bokuto is rubbing on his back. “I really did enjoy all my writing and rhetoric classes that I took as part of my pre-law program. I’m wondering if I might have a future in proofreading or editing.”

“Worth a shot!” Kuroo smiles.

Bokuto hugs Akaashi around the shoulders. “Any company would be lucky to have you. They’ll be asking for interviews in no time.”

Akaashi gives him a side-glance. “That’s not how normal job applications work.”

“I know that. I had to apply for my coaching jobs!”

“Oh come on,” Kuroo chuckles, “like you didn’t have a ton of universities clamoring to have a world-class athlete as a coach.”

“I didn’t! It was only, like, four.”

“That’s four places _asking_ _you_ to work for them,” Akaashi leans his head against Bokuto’s shoulder. “The rest of us usually have to deal with it the other way around.”

“Fine, but as a coach I have all of this supportive energy ready to go. It never runs out.”

 

***

 

“You know there’s this thing called brunch, right? Where you eat on a Saturday morning but it’s a normal hour to see other people.” Tsukishima slides right into playful sarcasm the moment their initial morning greetings are through. He’s cradling a paper cup of coffee in his hands as he takes the last sip, tipping it all the way back so he doesn’t miss any. 

 _Cute_ , Kuroo thinks. But then again everything about Tsukishima is at least a little cute. "Yea, but I wanted as much  _Tsukki_ time as possible today. So that means a morning with you and our movie later!"

Tsukishima makes a small grunt of acknowledgement, and tosses the now empty cup into the trash can beside him. “I suppose I’m as ready as I can be for social interaction this early.” _Yes, even the snark is cute_.

"Interactions this early  _with me_. That last part is important."

He expects a retort, but instead he gets an oddly sincere, "It's a little important."

For a second, Kuroo's thrown off-guard. _Too cute_. He recovers. “These pancakes are worth it. They’re so fluffy, you’re gonna forget it’s early. Plus, it’s my turn to buy, remember?” Kuroo swings the front door of the restaurant open and waves an arm like he’s welcoming Tsukishima into some grand theater and not a small, family-owned pancake place.

Tsukishima shoots him a side-eye, but Kuroo doesn’t feel any malice behind it. After all, he is here at eight o’clock in the morning on a Saturday dressed in another big, chunky sweater. This one’s a soft-looking grey cardigan with big, wooden buttons on the front. Kuroo gets the distinct impression that, while he looks casual, Tsukishima tried to put together an outfit for their breakfast date. Kuroo grins to himself as he follows Tsukishima into the restaurant thinking, _he likes me._

To be fair, Kuroo put effort into his outfit, too. He’s dressed comfortably for the shop, because he always needs to be in a t-shirt to make sure he can be flexible the way he needs to be, but over it he’s wearing a pea coat he dug out of the back of his closet. It’s all form and no function and he’s more than a little chilled from the walk over here, but he couldn’t miss the way Tsukishima gave him a look-over as he walked up.

Even though they text everyday, there’s still a lot to catch up on. While Kuroo shares as much of his day as he can remember everyday, Tsukishima only texts back a few details here and there - if he worked with Yachi or not, if someone bugged him at work, a picture of Mister, something cute Emi did.

They order and while they wait, Kuroo watches Tsukishima. He can’t seem to decide what to do with his hands. They’ll drum on the table one moment, then the next he’s grabbing for his water to take a sip, or settling his tightly intertwined hands under the table on his lap. The routine repeats as Tsukishima asks about practice and Kuroo explains all the little changes they’ve made to songs and lineups since the last time Tsukishima saw them play. Kuroo talks, but he’s watching those anxious hands and the way Tsukishima’s mouth continues to shift from momentarily relaxed to drawn in a thin, tight line.

Kuroo waits. _He’ll share when he wants to_.

Tsukishima fidgets until their plates clatter onto the table and he seems to snap out of whatever thought has gripped him. He takes one long look at the fluffy, over-sized, strawberry and whipped cream covered Hawaiian style pancakes and a tiny smile appears at the corner of his mouth.

Tsukishima looks over at him while his hand reaches for his fork and announces, “we’ve finished the webcomic. There’s still one more chapter and the epilogue to release, but on the creation-side, it’s over.”

“And you feel--” Kuroo asks in a questioning tone, already grinning in anticipation for whatever sarcastic reaction he’ll get in response.

Sure enough, Tsukishima pauses mid-cut into his first pancake to scrunch up his entire face. “Nothing,” he sneers, but once his face starts to relax the smile at the corner of his lips has grown. “It’s a bit surreal,” he adds slowly as he cuts through the thick, fluffy pancake, being careful not to cut through a strawberry slice, but instead leave it perfectly intact on the the piece he’s cutting. “I’m trying to enjoy not being so overwhelmed with extra work for a while but I’m already--” his voice trails off as his gaze shifts to his pancakes.

Kuroo smiles and finishes his sentence, “--itching for what’s next?”

Tsukishima chuckles softly. “Something like that.”

“Well, whenever it happens and whatever it is,” Kuroo motions across the table with his fork, brandishing a bite of his own banana nut pancakes, “you know I’ll read it.”

“What if it’s terrible?”

“It won’t be.”

“And how could you possibly know that?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer but he does wait until Tsukishima’s looking at him before he winks. The scoff he gets in return makes him grin, especially because there’s the slightest hint of pink creeping along Tsukishima’s ears and threatening to spill across his cheeks.

He lets Tsukishima resume eating before he adds, “You know, I shared your story with Akaashi. He hasn’t had a lot of time recently, but he’s been slowly working his way through the first few chapters.”

Tsukishima shoots him a sharp look. “You shared it with him?” He asks, disbelief in his voice.

“Well, yea. Don’t artists usually want that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

“Why?”

Tsukishima grumbles before responding. “It’s strange enough when Yamaguchi reads it and tells me what he thinks. Then _you_ read it and tell me what _you_ think. I just--” he slides his fork through another slice of pancake, again careful not to overly disturb the strawberries on top. “It’s one thing to have these anonymous comments online. It’s another to have people that I see in person read what I make. It’s,” he searches for a word, “odd.”

“Even if they like it?”

Tsukishima shrugs.

“Well, I like it. And Akaashi likes it, too. You know, you two have a lot in common. Would be awesome if we could all hang out again. Like old times,” Kuroo adds the last part wistfully.

“Old man,” Tsukishima smirks.

“It’s your fault,” he shoots back, “hanging out with you makes me all nostalgic.”

“More than already hanging out with your high school friends does?”

“Fair point, but yes. Hanging out with you is,” he searches for a word. When his mind lands on one, it brings a smirk of his own to his lips, eagerly anticipating Tsukishima’s reaction. “--special.”

There’s undoubtedly a light blush across his cheeks now. _I win._

“Ah,” he stretches back dramatically, widening his arms before settling his hands behind his head, his elbows hanging to the sides. “Memories of that gym in Tokyo. Hard to forget.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and Kuroo searches his features for hints of what he’s thinking behind that practiced, collected exterior, but he finds nothing. All he gets is that same little smile at the corner of his mouth. It keeps him going.

“You know,” Kuroo starts, his tone growing sly, “I thought you were really cute back then.”

Tsukishima’s hand stops mid-cut. His gaze is glued to his plate and Kuroo can’t take his eyes off the now deep-pink hue of the shell of his ears. _Cute_ . _Still so cute._

He keeps pushing, feeling like this is going somewhere good. “You’re less cute now,” he smirks.

Tsukishima’s eyes fly to him, his brows pinched gently together.

“Now you’re hot.”

The blush spreads. Tsukishima stares at his plate to hide it, but Kuroo can see it and his chest swells with adoration.

_Today is going to be a great day._

 

_***_

_(Kuroo's part will continue in the next chapter. More date to come!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, things are _things_ right now.
> 
> I was already in a weird headspace with my exciting bipolar brain back at the start of March and then everything went and got _really interesting_. So um, yeah.
> 
> I hope you are good.  
> I hope you are happy and healthy.  
> I hope this made you smile. (＾ω＾)
> 
> Like I said, Kuroo's part isn't over yet. The rest of the date is going to be in the next chapter. I just wanted to share this now and then work up the writing mojo to keep the goodness going.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Always, always, thank you.


	22. Tsukki thought of me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date continues! Still Kuroo's POV.  
> They go see a movie, enjoy a drink, and end up back at Kuroo's place.

Kuroo packed so many clients in his Saturday that even once he’s endured a dinner meeting with the touring band and their manager, his hands still feel like they’re vibrating from the needle. 

The plan is to meet Tsukishima at the train station near the movie theater. He’ll grab a coffee or something on the way because, good god, does he need it. And then, _then we’ll see from there_. He smiles to himself as the train stops pass by the window. He’s purposefully left tomorrow morning as open as he can. He has appointments at the shop and then he’s got to make it to his dad’s, but he left the morning open _just in case_. _Tsukishima can be full of surprises_.

He looks for Tsukishima the second he’s off the train. By now he knows that he’s the kind of person to show up everywhere early.

Kuroo sees a flash of blond hair. Today’s no different.

He takes great, big steps to reach him faster, cutting through the Saturday night crowd rushing out of the train. “Hey, Tsukki! I--”

Tsukishima holds out a paper cup. “I brought you some tea.”

Kuroo blinks. It takes him a beat before he holds out his hands to take it.

Tsukishima looks away, his eyes rolling to the side. “I bought myself one and I thought it’d be rude to show up without one for you, too. And I thought you might be tired.”

The cup warms his hands, but it’s no match for the way the gesture’s warmed his heart. _Tsukki thought of me_. He smiles wide, just how touched he is clearly written on his face by the way Tsukishima refuses to look directly at him.

“Thank you,” he says, unable to wipe the big smile off his face. “I was tired, but way better now that you’re here. Let’s go see a bad movie!”

“If it’s bad, why did you pick it?”

Kuroo winks. “Because it’s gonna be fun.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue as they start to walk, but his true feelings are already clear because of two things. _One, he bought me a drink. Two, he definitely, definitely just brushed his hand against mine on purpose_. 

It’s a short walk to the theater, but Kuroo’s determined to hold his hand once they’re outside the station.

While Kuroo rambles on about his day on the less-busy side street, he steps closer and reaches out with his free hand. Once, twice, he brushes past before Tsukishima’s hand slowly opens and fits within his.

With a warm tea in one hand and a warm hand in the other, Kuroo’s not sure he can feel much happier.

That is until, right before they leave the quiet side street and enter the crowded area in front of the theater, Tsukishima pulls on his arm, bringing him close, and quickly kisses him on the cheek.

Then he goes right on talking like nothing happened at all. 

 

***

 

After the tea, Kuroo treats himself to a giant, overpriced soda at the concession stand so he can stay awake through the movie. It ends up not being necessary, though. He’s extremely alert because every time Tsukishima shifts beside him, it doesn’t matter what’s happening on the screen, because his attention is pulled to the placement of Tsukishima’s body - his knee against his, their hands brushing, the tingly feeling he gets in his arm when Tsukishima’s body leans a bit closer. Now the soda’s just made him extra jittery.

His knee is bouncing again. He’s given up on trying to stop the caffeine twitch. There’s another loud explosion on the screen, but what makes him jump isn’t the sound, but the feeling on a firm hand on his leg.

His eyes shoot to the side. Tsukishima’s glaring at him. He doesn’t say anything but he continues to stare, pressing his hand down a little more strongly.

“Sorry,” Kuroo mouths silently.

Tsukishima smirks and turns back to the screen.

His hand stays in place.

A few minutes later, Kuroo places his own hand on top of his.

Kuroo has very little idea of what happens in the second half of the movie.

 

***

 

The natural next step when Kuroo is bouncy with caffeine and in the company of an attractive man is to take that attractive man to a nice place to buy him a drink. He can wind down and maybe help him gently steer the evening towards where he’s hoping it will go, his body humming with delighted nerves and anticipation.

He brings Tsukishima to a bar with a speak-easy feel a short walk from the theater. It’s right off the main shopping street that’s still filled with people, even at the later hour, but once they step inside it’s quiet except for the sounds of low voices carrying over the slow, moody music in the background.

The whole place is wall-to-wall deep, rich wood - already dark and made darker by the low lighting. The bartop owns the room, stretching from end to end, it’s thick wooden top smooth with years of worn lacquer. There’s no seats except for at the bar and they find two together towards the back. They walk past column after column of interesting looking liquor bottles behind the counter.

As soon as they sit Kuroo sneaks a glance at Tsukishima to see if he’s chosen well. Tsukishima’s eyes are trained on the barback, still scanning the bottles behind. There’s a slight surprise behind his smirk and Kuroo lets himself feel proud. _I chose well_.

He’s brought more than his fair share of dates here. It’s why he fought with himself over whether this was the right spot or not. But, even with all the failed relationships that sat next to him at this bar top just like Tsukishima sits with him now, it’s too good of a place to drop forever. The seats force him and his date to sit closely together. The conversations around them always make his date have to lean in to listen. And the drinks they serve make Kuroo seem cooler than he is.

Tsukishima hooks his jacket under the bar and Kuroo catches a bartender approaching. Quickly, he slips into Tsukishima’s space and gives him the run-down. “There’s no menu here. Well, there is. But you can choose menu, wish, or wildcard. Menu costs twice as much as anything. Wish means you give them an idea of what you want and they make something. Wildcard--”

“Means I get to choose everything,” the bartender finishes, serving up a winning grin to the both of them, “but it’s the cheapest option of them all.”

“And usually the best,” Kuroo adds.

Tsukishima glances at him, eyebrow raised.

“Wildcard,” Kuroo announces, his hand hitting the bartop as he says it.

“I’m not that brave,” Tsukishima grins, “but I’ll take something creamy.”

Kuroo hates to admit it to himself, but the way Tsukishima says _creamy_ makes his skin flush in a pleasant way. 

He tries to think of a way to start up a new conversation when Tsukishima says, “So,” he smirks, “I watched you fall asleep on Kenma’s channel the other day.”

“And I was adorable, right?” Few people can embarrass Kuroo, he usually just rolls with the situation and makes it funny, but with the way Tsukishima’s looking at him, he feels a rare flush creeping up his neck.

Tsukishima tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow. “Not particularly. You drooled.”

The blush creeps a little higher. He opens his mouth to retort, but Tsukishima isn’t done yet.

“And you mumbled in your sleep.”

“You know you thought it was cute,” Kuroo presses, trying to regain his footing in his conversation.

Tsukishima shrugs, humming dismissively.

“Yeah, well, the fact remains that you watched me sleep.”

“No. I could have been watching for Kenma’s riveting commentary while he aggressively slaughtered the other team.”

Kuroo snickers. Kenma’s commentary is a thing of beauty. He’ll be silent and focused for huge stretches of time and then launch into a clearly well thought out take down of each one of his opponents’ weaknesses. His fans love it, call him “The Final Boss.” It’s too late for it to not go to his head.

“Mm,” Kuroo hums casually as their drinks are slid towards them, “you can say that, but I know the truth. You just couldn’t get enough of me.”

Tsukishima shrugs again and turns his attention to his drink, his eyes narrowing as he wraps his slender fingers around the short glass and studies it. There’s a dark ring of liquor at the bottom and, from the looks of it, a lot of cream on top, served over ice. He brings it to his lips and Kuroo watches as his eyes close while he takes his first sip. He smiles.

“Good?” Kuroo asks.

“It tastes like kahlua and milk.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Kuroo grimaces.

“But… richer. Oh, I like it.” Tsukishima seems like he’s talking to himself more than Kuroo as he goes in for another sip, his eyes closing again. When he pulls the glass back once more, his smile is just a bit bigger.

There are these moments when Kuroo gets glimpses of Tsukishima without his walls, and he’s getting more of them lately, but they’re precious each time.

Kuroo’s own drink tastes like an interesting mix of expensive liquors swimming in a glass together. It’s not unpleasant, but it does kick him in the mouth.

He must make a face because Tsukishima smirks in his direction. “Regretting your choice?”

“Nah, it’s complex. I like complex things.”

The conversation flows comfortably after that. There are quiet moments, but Kuroo lets them sit. He enjoys watching Tsukishima as his eyes drift around the bar, taking it in. When they do talk, it’s more of the same. Gentle jabs at the other’s expense. Pictures of Mister that Kuroo happily freaks out over. Kuroo filling him in on the different tattoos he did that day.

Somehow he winds up talking about Bokuto and Akaashi again. They’ve been on his mind since they last spoke, and he shows Tsukishima a recent picture of the two of them.

“Bokuto hasn’t changed at all,” Tsukishima says quietly, close to Kuroo’s ear. They’re huddled together looking at his phone screen, their bodies aligned to make room in the busy bar. “Akaashi hasn’t changed much either, but when did he get glasses?”

“His last year in college. Turns out he’d needed them for a while. Makes you wonder how he was such a good setter,” he chuckles. “He was going to get contacts but Bokuto said he looked good in them. I think his exact words were, ‘damn babe, you look hot.’”

“Such a charmer.”

“You know it. Their particular brand of romance is unique to them, I’ll say that. They’re so clingy and lovey-dovey all the time. Living with Akaashi was… interesting, to say the least. Let’s just say I know exactly what two of my best friends’ orgasm noises sound like and I’d rather erase that from my brain forever.”

Tsukishima puffs out a quiet, sort of laugh and Kuroo decides that’s another thing that’s cute about him.

“That must have been horrible,” Tsukishima comments as Kuroo slides his phone back away. He expects the other man to lean back into his own seat, but Tsukishima stays glued to his side.

“It haunts me,” Kuroo replies with a laugh. “Good thing I still love them, despite it. You know, the next time they visit, maybe after my tour, we could all hang out.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, he realizes he’s talked about the future, weeks, maybe a couple of months away, and he’s accidentally shared that he clearly pictures the two of them still together then. He braces himself for it to be ignored, at best. At worst…

“I wouldn't mind that,” Tsukishima replies, the words falling warm against Kuroo’s cheek. “Though I still can’t believe they’d remember me, let alone want to see me.”

“That’s ridiculous. You were part of our little summer camp family. Along with ‘Bokuto’s son.’”

At that, Tsukishima laughs softly. “Those two were even worse once they were on the same team. Hinata wouldn't shut up about him.”

“Oh yeah, same on this end. It was always ‘my disciple this,’ ‘my sunshine son that.’” Kuroo chuckles at the memory. There’s a warm feeling in his chest that makes the memories flow out easier, quick flashes of things that feel bittersweet now. “I think you underestimate how much we cared about all of you country bumpkin crows.”

“As rivals? Sure,” Tsukishima says, and Kuroo gets the distinct sense he’s trying to drive the conversation from being too sincere. Kuroo feels him shift a few times in the seat next to him.

“And friends, good friends.” Kuroo takes another sip of his drink before he lets the glass settle hard on the bar top. There’s suddenly a heavy feeling trapped in his throat, but he doesn’t know why it’s there and words keep flowing out around it. “They care about you, too, Bokuto and Akaashi, even though it’s been a while.” He turns over his shoulder to smile at Tsukishima.

There’s an unreadable expression on his face, like his body is here but his mind has wandered far away.

He looks back at his glass, trying to figure out why there’s this heaviness that won’t leave him. He’s on a date, talking about his best friends, nothing heavy. “They always asked me about how you were doing, back when you and I were still ta--” _and there it is_. The lump in his throat has a shape now.

He realizes suddenly that it’s been there for some time in the back of his mind. It’s been part of the reason why he’s been so hesitant and careful to push things forward, not go his normal route. True, Tsukishima knows him and the normal moves might not have worked, but honestly, somewhere deep down in there, he knew -- _Tsukishima disappeared once already and I never knew why_.

When he glances over his shoulder again, Tsukishima is staring at him, his lips pinched together, his chest quickly rising and falling. And he’s not sure how he knows, but he’s certain Tsukishima is thinking about the exact same thing. It’s a gut feeling. It’s the elephant in the room they haven’t discussed since they ran into each other again because Kuroo could never, didn’t want to ever, find the words to say _hey, so why’d you drop me from your life?_

As the question rattling around in his own head makes him horribly uncomfortable, Kuroo wants to shake it loose as much as he wants to shatter the tension that’s built between them. “Eh, but what’s it you’re always calling me now? _Old man_? I could probably stand to be less of an old man right now, huh? Diving back through old memories while sipping on a bitter drink only a particularly old man could appreciate?”

“Something like that,” Tsukishima replies. His voice sounds far away.

Cutting through the decade old hurt he didn’t realize was still there, Kuroo knows what’s important now. He wants to ignore the topic, but it’s clear that’s still where Tsukishima is, so he tries -- “At least you’re back in my life now. Back and better than before.”

Tsukishima glances at him, his fingers drawing lazy circles along his glass. “Better? Just this morning you said I was really cute back then.” His voice still sounds distant, but Kuroo can tell he’s trying.

“Mmhmm,” Kuroo shoots him a look, ready for the playfulness to return. It feels forced now, but it won’t forever, _not if I keep trying_. “And what’d I say after that?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Oh you lie,” Kuroo smirks.

The wicked grin he gets is response settles any of the leftover worry in his heart.

That might be something they’ll have to deal with later if this does go anywhere, like he hopes it will, but for now, for now this is good. He wants to be right here in this bar, enjoying a drink in fine, damn fine company.

“I believe you said I was hot.”

“Well, and that’s the truth. So, tell me, Tsukki,” he lingers on the final vowel, like he so enjoys doing, “how’d I age? Like a fine wine?”

“Like an unwashed shoe.”

“Really?” His voice grows high-pitched, “that’s the very first thing you thought of? You didn’t hesitate at all.”

Tsukishima’s grin grows. “You asked. You have yourself to blame.”

“Alright, that’s -- it’s whatever. ‘Cause I know what you really think of me.”

“And what is that?”

“Oh, it’s not so much words, it’s,” he sets down his drink again and takes his time leaning over, choosing his words carefully and pressing his lips against the shell of his ear, “how you look at me when I’m playing guitar or when you’re on your knees in front of me, hungry and eager to please.”

He feels the slight shiver run through Tsukishima’s body and he sits back up, feeling quite proud of himself for winning this round.

“Well,” Tsukishima says after a moment, turning to look Kuroo dead in the eyes, “since my thirst is quenched and you seem to make me so, how did you just call it? Hungry? Now is as good a time as any to tell you that I have an overnight bag in a locker at the station.

It takes Kuroo too long to process judging by the growing smirk on Tsukishima’s lips. “A what now?”

“Surely I don’t have to ask for an invitation. My cat is fed. I have a bag. And maybe I’m a little curious about what this aged, unwashed shoe’s apartment looks like.”

Kuroo waves down the bartender to pay immediately as Tsukishima laughs softly beside him.

 

***

 

“I forgot to ask you,” Kuroo mumbles against Tsukishima’s lips, his hands slipping through the short hairs of his undercut while Tsukishima sits in his lap, slowly rocking against him as he clutches on to Kuroo’s shoulders. “--what you thought about my place.”

Tsukishima exhales a breathy sort of laugh and Kuroo feels his warmth against him. “It’s a mess.”

“No it’s not. I specifically cleaned for you,” Kuroo squeezes his ass just a little to punctuate his point.

Tsukishima pulls back a few inches and Kuroo instinctively chases after those lips. The blond looks down at him, smirk growing, “You were that sure I’d want to come over?”

“I had a feeling.” Kuroo runs his hands up Tsukishima’s back under his sweater, relishing the way the other man lets himself be pulled forward. Just before their lips meet again, he adds in a heavy whisper, “You looked so good last time. That’s hard to forget.”

This time Tsukishima makes the first move to claim the other’s lips, rushing back in with a eagerness that built the whole train ride over.

It was delicious agony. Tsukishima kept doing subtle things that he _had to know_ were slowly driving Kuroo insane. He’d place a hand along the inside of his own thigh and trace those fingers higher and higher, the faintest whisper of a whimper on his lips. He’d stretch and make a low, moaning grumble in his throat. All while occasionally flicking his eyes towards Kuroo, slanted to match his wicked grin. _Oh, he knew_.

After a quick round of “here’s my kitchen, there’s the bathroom, now who cares, here’s my couch,” they’d tumbled together without the pretense of watching a movie.

Kuroo likes it like this. No games, just want.

As they kiss, Tsukishima rocks in his lap with slow, steady pressure back and forth. Last time Tsukshima was so hesitant once they reached a certain point, but there’s no sign of that tonight. It makes Kuroo wonder what Tsukishima’s been thinking about all week. He groans, sliding his hands down Tsukishima’s back, where a thin sheen of sweat has started to coat his skin, and he grips into his ass, frustrated at the layers of fabric between them.

Aside from those exaggerated, teasing moans on the train, Tsukishima has yet to break into anything more than breathy panting against Kuroo’s lips. He likes how Tsukishima makes him work for it. Like so much of what they do, there’s a hidden challenge. And he’s going to win by making Tsukishima a moaning mess before they finally sleep.

“It’s hot,” Kuroo breaks their kiss to pant in the small space between them. “Sweatshirts weren’t made for this.”

He expects some push back from Tsukishima, but instead he gets, “Sweaters weren’t either.” The next thing Kuroo knows, Tsukishima is straightening his back, looming over him with his back arched, and pulling the sweater off. He tosses it to the floor and looks down. “Your turn.”

Kuroo’s in an awkward position to remove an article of clothing, especially when Tsukishima refuses to give him any room from where he’s pinning him down - _not that I’m complaining_ \- but he manages to pull off the hoodie he slipped on after the shop. He grabs on to his t-shirt, too, pulling them both off in a less sexy fashion than he intended, but when he looks back up and sees the way Tsukishima’s looking at him, he knows he got the outcome he wanted.

“You have so many,” Tsukishima’s fingers find his chest, working down from the shoulders and tracing lines down his pecs, his abs. When one hand lands on one of his largest tattoos, the mystical scene with his muse along his ribs, those fingers press with purpose against him.

“This one’s gorgeous,” Tsukishima says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dart up to meet Kuroo’s, “I saw it at your show when you were an idiot and took your shirt off.” Those slender fingers don’t leave his skin. They keep tracing slow, warm lines up and down his chest.

“And you liked it.” Kuroo licks his lips.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but he grins, “obviously.”

“Aren’t you still hot?” Kuroo asks, tugging on the end of Tsukishima’s black t-shirt.

“Nope, I’m fine.” He shoots back, staring down at Kuroo, eyes unblinking.

Kuroo smirks. “Your dick says differently.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “You’re so crass.”

He looks up into those eyes, searching for any sign of the nervous man from last time. Things were hot and heavy then, too, and then he backed off completely, curled into a little ball along the edge of his bed.

Kuroo felt awful in that moment. He’s grateful they made it better together, but he doesn’t want Tsukishima to feel like that ever again. He wants him to feel good, but he doesn’t know where that balance is yet.

He takes the remark as a sign to pull back. Kuroo slides his hands up from the back of his jeans to the skin under his shirt. If the shirt’s staying on, maybe there’s more of a reason behind it than Tsukishima just wanting to be contrary.

For a beat their eyes are locked together and Kuroo tries his best to read what he finds there. When Tsukishima breaks the stare, it’s to sit upright again, fist his hands in the bottom of his t-shirt and pull it over his head, sending his hair in wild directions.

“Since you weren’t going to do it,” Tsukishima says, still looking down at him, though now those slender fingers of his are back in place on his chest, massaging more urgently into his muscles.

“Didn’t know if you wanted to put on a show,” Kuroo replies, thinking of the best way to say that he wanted Tsukishima to take the lead, do what he’s comfortable with. Tsukishima chooses that exact moment to rock against him and Kuroo bites his lip at the teasing friction.

“I wanted you to--” Tsukishima cuts himself off. He trails those fingers up his chest until they slide around Kuroo’s neck, tangling in those messy strands of hair. “I like it when--” he looks away, off over Kuroo’s shoulder at nothing.

“There is nothing more I’d like to hear than what you want me to do, Tsukki.” Kuroo slides his hands along the ink on Tsukishima shoulder, down his arm. He can’t see the crows on his back from this angle but - _oh_ \- a groan gets trapped in his throat as an image fills his mind - Tsukishima on his hands and knees in front of him, those crows, his back, below him, arched and beautiful.

Tsukishima puffs out a laugh, rocking against Kuroo with more pressure this time. “What is it _you_ just thought of? I felt that.”

 _He makes having any restraint so damn hard_. “Just you telling me what you like.”

He watches as several expressions cross Tsukishima’s face. Finally, he bites his lip and refocuses his attention on Kuroo fully, his stare intense. “Look, I know I had a- a _moment_ last time, but it, like, broke the seal of whatever and I’m fine and, Kuroo,” he rolls his hips again, pulling gently on Kuroo’s hair. He leans forward so their faces are aligned, his lips next to his ear. “I spend my whole day in control. I like when someone takes a little of that away.”

At that, Kuroo groans deep in his chest, his eyes shutting tight, but he fights the feeling that wants to take over. _Not yet_ , he thinks, _I have to be sure that he’s sure_. “You’ll let me know if you don’t like anything?”

“Always.”

“And tonight you -- how far are we going here tonight?” He softens his gaze as he asks it, hoping he doesn’t look like he’s pitying him from the meltdown last time. It’s just concern, pure and simple.

Tsukishima looks away again, back over his shoulder in to the darkness of the rest of his apartment. “Still not _everything_ , but,” he pauses, taking a breath, “more is okay.”

There’s so much left unsaid and Kuroo, well, he needs it to be said. “So what exactly is it you want?” He runs his hands up his back again, trying to make the request sound as sexy as he can.

Tsukishima stills in his lap, he stares down and says plainly, “talking about this is too awkward. I can’t do it. I just need you to, I don’t know, take over.”

Kuroo gently holds him at his sides, spreading his thumbs and his fingers across the soft expanse of his t-shirt. He smiles up at him and blurts, “Sex is awkward, Tsukki. It just is. It’s, like, sexy. But it’s also freaking weird. And great.”

“Some pick up line that is.”

“You’re already at my place. I don’t need to use lines anymore,” Kuroo grins and licks his lips.

“So your job is done?” Tsukishima responds, one eyebrow raised above dark eyes.

“Oh babe, my job has only just begun.”

“Now that’s a line.”

“Did it work?”

Tsukishima hums in a response. _It’s not a no_.

“But before we go any further, I need to know what _more_ is.”

Tsukishima’s face is still twisted with tension, so Kuroo pulls him a little closer, wrapping his arms around his back and tugging him into an awkward hug where Tsukishima towers above him on the couch. “I’ll make you feel good once I know what good means for you tonight.”

Tsukishima relaxes into his hold and Kuroo finds that he was holding his shoulders tightly together, too. He starts to let go.

“Since everything is already awkward, I have to ask,” Tsukishima inhales and lets the rest of his words fall out in one, quick breath, all running together, “when is the last time you’ve had a partner because I know I should ask and it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anybody so I know I’m fine, no issues to share, and I don’t want to talk about this, but, given the moment we’re in, I should.” He silences himself with another sharp inhale, stiff again in Kuroo’s arms.

“It’s been a few months for me,” he starts, suddenly feeling a pang of that awkwardness Tsukishima keeps talking about, “but I’ve been to the doctor in between and, uh,” he feels himself scrunching up his own face as he adds, “all is well. But I’ll use anything and go only as far as you want.”

At that, Tsukishima rights himself again, a look of determination in his eyes this time as he stares at him. “Then I want you take over.”

“And you’ll tell me if you don’t like something?”

“God, Kuroo,” he half growls in frustration, but there’s a grin on his lips, “I already told you yes.”

It takes a few minutes, but Kuroo feels the switch flip again. It’s not as frantic as it was before when they more or less crashed through his front door, already pawing at one another. There’s a weight to what’s between them now as Tsukishima rolls his hips, tugs on Kuroo’s hair, and drags his lips against his. He kisses back, deep and messy as their tongues slip along one another, and Kuroo holds him like he’s precious until he remembers what Tsukishima said. Twice.

He holds tight to Tsukishima’s body and starts to roll him sideways towards the couch cushions.

Tsukishima stays firmly rooted in place. He laughs in hot, panting breaths against Kuroo’s mouth, “I said I want you to take control. Not that I’d give it up easily.”

 

***

 

Kuroo nips at the soft skin below his teeth. Tsukishima’s thighs are kiss-bitten and pink from where Kuroo’s been enjoying himself. When Tsukishima refused to flip to the side, Kuroo decided to take advantage of their position. Once pants were tossed to the floor, he’d slipped down between his legs and set about massaging them and leaving trails of hot kisses and bites. He was gentle until Tsukishima’s panting breaths above him finally broke into a whimper, then he sunk his teeth in and drank down the sound of a heady moan.

“I told you I loved your legs,” Kuroo purrs, sliding his back up the couch so he can pay attention to Tsukishima’s lips again after worshipping those slender, strong legs. As he does, he continues to ignore the spot where Tsukishima’s cock is starting to strain against hos boxer briefs.

 _Not yet_ , he reminds himself. Instead he rubs his thumbs into those sensitive spots, testing to see if Tsukishima likes just a little bit of pain along with his pleasure.

He does. Tsukishima throws his arms around Kuroo’s shoulders and yanks him close, shoving their lips together, all passion, no finesse, in the slightly awkward position they find themselves. Tsukishima’s back is curved as he leans down to capture Kuroo’s mouth with his own in messy, panting, open-mouthed kisses, and Kuroo finds himself clinging to Tsukishima’s back and letting go himself, pouring everything into the places where they’re touching.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He asks in a heated whisper when he breaks to breathe, filling his chest with air that feels cold without Tsukishima breathing it into him.

Eyes half-lidded, Tsukishima shakes his head. “No, not yet.”

Kuroo groans deep in his throat at the thought of Tsukishima wanting to wait, let the pressure build until it spills over. He slides back down, just a little, but keeps his grip on Tsukishima’s back. He pushes his chest closer until his tongue can gently flick across one of his nipples.

Above him Tsukishima hisses and his hands slide into Kuroo’s hair, twisting in the locks and pulling.

As his hands massage into the soft skin of his back, slowly working down until his are on the fabric of his boxers, digging in, Kuroo licks and nips at his chest. He drags his tongue around each nipple, enjoying each small sound he gets when he gets a little rougher with the skin beneath his hands.

By now, Kuroo can feel that he’s starting to lose his own resolve, straining against his underwear and shifting so he can sit comfortably and keep his composure. It’s getting difficult, harder every time Tsukishima’s veneer breaks and he lets out a soft moan.

Kuroo growls against his chest, “I need to feel you.” He looks up and finds Tsukishima’s expression dark with want, too.

Those hands stay tangled in his hair, but slowly, Tsukishima spreads his legs on the couch, lowering himself while his eyes stay locked on Kuroo’s. The moment they touch, Kuroo tosses his head back into the couch, the gentle slide of their clothed dicks already too much of a tease to handle. And then Tsukishima keeps going, lower and lower, lightly dragging his cock against Kuroo’s until he’s seated on his thighs.

And then he rocks into him. Kuroo groans and gabs onto his ass, pushing him forward with all his strength until the pressure is too much and still too little at once.

Tsukishima moans and goes willingly, his forehead falling against Kuroo’s. “You look like you want something, Kuroo. What is it you want?” He asks, teasing in the hot air between them.

Kuroo starts to feel the shift of power. He wants so much in this moment, but more than that, he wants Tsukishima to be the one at his mercy.

He doesn’t answer, but he shifts so they aren’t as close and he slips his hand under his own waistband, closing his eyes as he wraps his own hand around his cock and pulls himself free.

He bites his lip as he starts to stroke himself. He relaxes against the back of the couch, letting way more sounds leave his lips than if he were alone and doing the same. He works himself with a tight grip, spreading the pre-cum that spills over while making sure the hand that’s still on Tsukishima’s ass digs in more. 

He finally opens his eyes.

Tsukishima is watching his hand, mouth parted and breathing heavily.

“Mmm,” Kuroo hums, “feels good. I can make you feel good, too.”

Slowly, Tsukishima nods but says nothing. He grinds up on Kuroo’s thighs until they’re flush together again and Kuroo grins. Letting go of himself, he slides his palm down Tsukishima’s chest until he reaches his waistband. He uses both hands to slip in behind and get two handfuls of his ass before one slides around to the front and takes Tsukishima fully in hand. He’s pleased to find he’s already slick with pre-cum and he spreads what he can around the head as he pulls him free.

The choked-back moan he gets in response is gorgeous.

He pushes Tsukshima forward until they’re touching, side-by-side aching with desire. He fits his fist around them both and pumps once, twice, enjoying the drag of his cock against his own.

With great effort, Kuroo pulls his attention away and digs his hand into the seat cushion, coming back with a packet of lube. He thinks of some quippy comment to make, but one look at Tsukishima’s intense gaze tells him not to ruin the moment. There’s a spell between them now and he won’t be the one to break it.

Once they’re slick with more than their own pre-cum, the slide is so much more rewarding. With his hand still around them, he thrusts his hips so he can drag himself along Tsukishima’s length. With one strong pump of his hips, Tsukishima’s mouth falls open and his first completely unrestrained moan of the night spills out.

And Kuroo’s gone.

Tsukishima grinds against him, sliding their cocks together while Kuroo’s fist pumps them both. It’s teasingly messy at first until they find their rhythm, Tsukishima rocking against him while Kuroo slips his hand around them harder and faster. He can feel Tsukishima’s head dragging along him and, paired with the sounds they’re both making, he can feel pleasure pooling in his stomach.

Chasing his release, he thrusts his hips up off the couch to increase the pull and friction between them. Tsukishima cries out, his head falling back. He’s getting close, but he stills his hips, remembering one of the best things he learned about Tsukishima last time.

He gropes around for the packet of lube and keeps it in hand as he reaches back to pull Tsukishima’s boxers down. He messily spreads what’s left between two fingers and he slips down the center of his ass until he teases over his waiting hole.

“Yes, yes,” Tsukishima pants, still grinding against him.

Kuroo gently slides in, careful and slow, as Tsukishima moans loudly. His steady pace along Kuroo’s hips increases and they fall out of their rhythm and into something much more frantic and passionate.

As Kuroo slides into his tight heat, Tsukishima gasps for breath then pulls their mouths together. With tongues lapping at any skin they touch, cocks grinding together, and Kuroo’s fingers slowly dragging in and out of him, Tsukishima comes, hips stuttering.

Kuroo’s fingers still, but Tsukishima cries out, “don’t stop.”

So he gives him what he wants, stroking him on both ends through everything. And just when he thinks he might outlast him, Tsukishima moans out his name and Kuroo comes hard, his heat spilling out of him suddenly as he falls over the edge of pleasure.

 

***

 

After cleaning up and moving this late night party to his bedroom, Kuroo has a plan in mind to ask for another round before they sleep, but with his back pressed along Kuroo’s chest, cuddled close in Kuroo’s bed watching a movie on his tablet, Tsukishima falls asleep.

Carefully reaching over him to shut off his tablet, Kuroo settles back behind him, hugging around Tsukishima’s middle and placing his head on the same pillow that he’s using. With his body warm and his heart full, Kuroo closes his eyes. He knows sleep is a long way off for him, as it tends to be these days, but he’s more than content to lie here with Tsukishima in his arms, planning what sweet things he’ll do in the morning while listening to his steady breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, these two are still working through some things, but they'll get there.  
> In more ways than one, *wink wonk.*  
> There's some big things on the horizon, so I'm glad you're here for the journey with me!
> 
> With this chapter, this fic is now officially longer than Habits, making it my longest fic ever...and growing.  
> HO-LY CR-AP (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و My initial notes and general outline for this included the big beats of this story, sure, but sooooo much more has happened. This fic really took on a mind of its own. I'm happy it did, but also - WHAAAAT?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading since the beginning. I'm so freaking honored you've been with me this long. And thank you, too, to everyone who joined in the middle and somehow read all the old parts to catch up because, wow, you're awesome.


	23. At least he’s making time for me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima's POV  
> The clever blond thinks, thinks some more, analyzes, and lets him enjoy some good times with friends and a really good time with Kuroo. *wink wonk*

Tsukishima opens his front door and is greeted by Mister yowling before he even gets both feet inside.

“Alright, alright, I hear you, you little monster.” He hooks his keys by the door, slumps his overnight bag on the ground, and bends down to properly greet his fuzzy overlord, scratching his neck and behind his ears with the hand that’s not currently wrapped around one of Kuroo’s travel mugs.

“I missed you, too. Bet you didn’t know what to do without me getting up to tell you to stop knocking things over in the middle of the night.”

Mister purrs so loudly it sounds like he’ll choke on the sound. Tsukishima laughs as his cat slams against his hand, demanding more intense pets than what he was receiving. He sets down the mug and gives in, providing happy scritches with both hands now.

“Mister, you won’t believe what I did this morning. I fooled around with a boy. In the morning. When the sun was up.” He grins wide and is glad no one is around to see his reaction. “Who even am I, right? And that boy gave me coffee. Do you remember him? Do you? Do you?” He repeats, his voice getting caught in a loop as Mister continues to show his affectionate side.

He wants to stay like that, but the crouching position is making his legs hurt. Plus he’d like to get out of his entryway and settle back in to his own home. “Okay, you big baby, I have to take my shoes off.”

He stands and Mister slams against his leg, still purring. With some effort, Tsukishima takes off his shoes and steps into his apartment. He bends down to pet Mister again and it lasts all of a couple seconds before the cat decides he’s had enough and trots away on quiet feet, tail twitching behind him as he walks.

Tsukishima walks to his kitchen so he can rinse out Kuroo’s travel mug. It’s still warm from the coffee he just finished and he swears his clothes still smell like the cologne Kuroo not-so-secretly put on first thing this morning. He catches himself sniffing his own shoulder, eyes closed, enjoying the memories it brings back.

His eyes pop open. He stares at the mug he’s running under the water in his sink. It’s covered in printed flowers and the rubber insulator around it is a garish shade of pink, but it’s somehow so perfectly Kuroo. He sighs. _I am well and truly doomed, aren’t I_?

Even when he caught sight of Kuroo’s planner while the man gave him a coffee refill “for the journey home,” he didn’t freak out. Tsukishima looked at the coming week, the past few weeks, saw his own name written over and over again in little pockets of time - _Tsukki? Tsukki Tsukki?_

_And I didn’t freak out._

True, it was a little disconcerting to see just _how_ busy Kuroo is right now. _And how much busier he’ll be really soon._

The thought settles hard in his stomach, nestled uncomfortably next to the same knot that grew there when Kuroo mentioned them losing touch before. Two uneasy thoughts that won’t go away. But Tsukishima is dead set on allowing himself to enjoy his morning.

 _At least he’s making time for me_ . _It’s not exactly like my last dating nightmare._

He finishes washing out the mug and tells himself that by the time it’s hit his drying rack, he’ll be back to thinking about all the best parts of the past day.

It’s easy to do when he keeps getting whiffs of Kuroo’s scent on his clothes.

Easier to do when he thinks of the things they did together that send a tiny shiver up his back.

Setting the mug away to dry, he looks over his kitchen peninsula over at where Mister has settled on the couch. “What do you want to watch? I’m thinking we catch up on that show Yamaguchi wanted me to watch. I’m in the mood for something fun and stupid.”

 

***

 

 **[19:11]** Haven’t heard from you yet today - figured you must have been swallowed by a black hole since that’s the only thing that would maybe, possibly end the obsessive amount of gifs you send me

 **Kuroo [20:01]** Just for that I’m going to send you so many  
**Kuroo [20:01]** I’m locking up in the shop  
**Kuroo [20:01]** give me ten  
**Kuroo [20:01]** Then I’m gonna break your phone by sending  
**Kuroo [20:01]** all the cute animal crap I’ve found over the past few days

 

***

 

“Mmm,” Yachi hums delightfully after savoring the last bite of her pain au chocolat, “I do so enjoy eating my feelings. They’re delicious.”

Tsukishima grins, still working his way through the miniature fruit tart he decided to treat himself to. They met this afternoon to go over what they’d heard from different agents during the past two weeks. After they submitted their final chapters, they both took a breather and let everything with writing take a backseat for a second. But now, they’re back to business and back to banging their heads against a wall.

“I don’t think my feelings taste like a fruit tart.”

“That’s your fault then. Mine taste like chocolate and,” her eyes peer back towards the beautiful glass-covered displays, “maybe another eclair.” She looks back at Tsukishima, a far away look in her eyes. “I know I don’t really have a reason to be bummed. Our current comic is still doing well and we have that final chapter party with everyone this weekend, but I want to hurry up and get to what’s next. I keep worrying that my creative juices will dry up the moment I don’t have something to work on.”

Tsukishima’s already felt his will to write leaving him, too, without the threat of deadlines and routines. “Maybe it’s a good thing to take a break,” he says, still not convinced himself.

“Maybe. But now I know that I’m no good at selling myself. Actually,” she gives him a sort of sideways smile, “neither of us are. Neither of us are that ‘hey! Look at how awesome I am’ kind of person.”

“Selling ourselves is definitely uncomfortable,” Tsukishima agrees. After all the times he’s answered ‘so why you two?’ over the last few months, he thought he’d have a perfect answer ready. But every time it comes out too business-like, too impersonal. He doesn’t seem to have the vocabulary to convince another living person that Yachi and he offer something different. Right now, they potentially appear marketable, but not unique. He knows this.

“At least we have those agents that waitlisted us. That’s something,” Yachi offers.

“Yeah, and we can keep working on our novel in the meantime. Without the pressure of deadlines.”

“Who knows? Maybe the lack of pressure will make me stop sweating so much for once!” As she speaks, her eyes keep darting back to the display case, her mouth forming the words of the pastries she’s considering buying for her second round.

“Go ahead,” he grins, and Yachi pops out of her seat, ready to indulge.

Tsukishima takes the break as a chance to check his phone. He’s seen a work email or two cross his screen, but those are ignorable for now. He swipes away those notifications and opens his text messages.

Kuroo’s sent him a picture of Glory Days with the band they’re touring with, some promotional stuff they’re both putting out on their social media accounts to sell a few more tickets ahead of their first stops in a little over a week.

 **Kuroo [14:35]** which one do I look better in?  
**Kuroo [14:35]** I think the second one  
**Kuroo [14:35]** but Kenma’s gonna post the first one out of spite  
**Kuroo [14:35]** tell me I look good in both

 **[14:41]** neither

 **Kuroo [14:41]** not an option and you know it  
**Kuroo [14:41]** also I know you like both

 **[14:41]** yeah, Tora looks cool.

 **Kuroo [14:41]** and…

 **[14:42]** Your singer’s got a new look. I like it.

 **Kuroo [14:42]** (⌣_⌣”)

 **[14:42]** Their drummer has great hair.

 **Kuroo [14:42]** (｡•́︿•̀｡) 

 **[14:42]** And interesting tattoos.

 **Kuroo [14:42]** ( ˃̣̣̥ω˂̣̣̥ )

 **[14:43]** That’s it.

 **Kuroo [14:43]** why must you wound me so?

 **[14:43]** Because you’re obviously fishing for compliments.

 **Kuroo [14:43]** exactly  
**Kuroo [14:43]** so give me them  
**Kuroo [14:43]** I want them  
**Kuroo [14:43]** please

 **[14:44]** I like your shirt.

 **Kuroo [14:44]** I’d rather you compliment my  
**Kuroo [14:44]** b o d y  
**Kuroo [14:44]** but I’ll take it

Tsukishima sees Yachi’s tray filled with not one but two eclairs hit the table and he looks up.

There’s a sparkle in her eye. “Who are you talking to?”

“Someone stupid.”

“So, Kuroo,” she laughs. “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she says as she retakes her seat, “I’m not gonna bother you about him. It’s just nice to see you like this again.”

“Like how?” He presses, raising an eyebrow.

“A little less like a sour lemon and a little more like a lemon tart.”

“That was cheesy.”

She chuckles, “exactly. Did you ask him to come to the party this weekend?”

“No,” he shoots back quickly, then in a moment of weakness adds, “should I have?”

“Absolutely! Go, go, text him now. He’s probably still around his phone.” She gets that glint back her in eye, “probably waiting for another text from _Tsukki--_ ”

“Alright, you’ve had enough sweets. You’re on another level.”

“I know, right? All this sugar and coffee is giving me life!” She laughs again and Tsukishima can’t help but join in, softer but still happy.

It takes Kuroo a while to get back to him, but when he does it’s a selfie of him with a dorky thumbs up and a wink.

 **Kuroo [19:12]** looking forward to it!

 

***

 

 **Kuroo [01:02]** sorry, fell asleep  
**Kuroo [01:02]** If you’re still up, I can tell you all about my day  
**Kuroo [01:02]** It was nuts!  
**Kuroo [01:02]** but you could probably tell ‘cause I fell asleep  
**Kuroo [01:02]** sorry I missed our normal time  
**Kuroo [01:03]** tho - do we have a normal time?  
**Kuroo [01:03]** I feel like you’re always awake  
**Kuroo [01:03]** but maybe you’re asleep now  
**Kuroo [01:03]** if you are, good job  
**Kuroo [01:03]** A+ self-care  
**Kuroo [01:03]** I’ll try to do the same  
**Kuroo [01:03]** good night, Tsukiiiiiii

 

***

 

Out on his balcony, Tsukishima holds the last cigarette of his current pack between his fingers. He has no plans to buy another, but he’s been down this road before. It’s a crutch, he knows, but it’s a favorite for preparing or recovering from being around people or anything too stressful.

He knows he’s better than before, Yamaguchi constantly praises him like a small child over his ability to _make friends now!_ But it’s still not easy. Even when events are fun. Even when it’s a party celebrating the final chapter of their comic finally being out on the internet for every loving fan and horrible troll to consume.

He rubs his other hand along his stomach trying to relieve some of the knots there. With other chapters, he could at least feel a little excited. With this one, he’s been a ball of nerves since it went live this morning. He started obsessively checking comments and had to pull himself away. It was driving him nuts.

Especially the few, _very few, I know I shouldn’t focus on it but,_  that felt let down. They felt like these two characters should have kissed in the end or they thought the protagonist didn’t have the full turn-around they expected. Tsukishima knows he told the story that he, that they, wanted, and that there were way more people who were sending positive comments - _but still._

He takes another long drag and watches it blow out across the night sky. _Maybe we are missing something. Maybe that’s why this agent search is worthless right now._

He drops his head and lets it hang there, his eyes focused on the metal railing, and reminds himself over and over again that it’s stupid to be acting like this. _It’s a night for celebration._

_That I invited Kuroo to._

He rubs his hand across his stomach again, the knots growing as his brain keeps up a steady, anxious swirl of comments read, agent rejections, and images of Kuroo being loud and overly enthusiastic around his friends.

 _Just go,_  he tells himself as he picks himself up and breathes in the last bit of his cigarette, savoring that comforting sting, _it’s always better once you’re there._

 

***

 

Looking up at him in neat, professional, color lines of frosting are the words “Congratulations Yachi and Tsukishima!” He knows he’s supposed to cut the cake, the night has progressed far enough that it’s time to finally enjoy some, but he’s finding it hard to drive the knife through the decoration. Their friends clearly paid way too much for a cake large enough to display several pivotal scenes from their comic printed in edible ink around the edges.

And now, with the knife in his hand, cutting it suddenly feels like _a lot_.

“Cut the cake, Tsukishima!” someone shouts through the small crowd of friends that’s gathered in the space they rented at a restaurant. It’s loud, been loud for some time, but it’s happy. The amount of encouragement he’s received over the past few hours have effectively shut down the noise in his brain and he’s been left alone, finally, to just enjoy it.

“He can’t! It’s too beautiful!” Yachi’s voice rises above the rest of the room. “But I want cake, so--”

Suddenly her voice is much closer and she picks up the knife from the table. Her face pops into view, cheeks rosy from champagne. “We can cut it together.”

“That’s what couples do at a wedding.”

She scrunches up her face. “Yeah, and we’re creatively married, so cut the damn cake with me, Tsukki.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and closes his hands around hers. Even with all the phones taking photos around them in this - as one friend is currently shouting - _extremely precious moment_ , he feels proud. Really proud. And good.

If he were anyone or anywhere else right now, he might even be a little openly choked up about it. But right now, those feelings are shoved neatly deep down in his chest. Only a little sting at the back of his eyes reminds him its there.

The second the knife hits the plate below, Yachi looks over at him and he knows the she’s holding back a wave of emotion, too. Yachi blinks quickly, her smile wide, but eyes watery. Her hands wiggle under his and he lets her go, only to then be fiercely hugged around his middle with Yachi burying her face in his sweater.

He can feel her mumble something against his chest.

“What was that?” He sniffs quickly, hoping no one notices.

It seems like everyone is focused on the adorableness that is Yachi right now. As they should be.

She lifts her head, her chin still poking into him, and looks up. “Thank you, Tsukki,” she says, perhaps a little purposefully overdramatic to keep the mood light and the tears inside where they belong, but still sincere.

He puts the knife down and wraps and arm around her, too, saying nothing and looking away to the only spot in the room where he can see a empty wall.

With one more big squeeze, she lets him go and announces to the group around them, “It’s time for cake!”

Always the dutiful best friend, Yamaguchi’s quick to whisk him away to a quieter corner once they both have corner pieces on their plates.

“Thought you could use a break.”

Tsukishima nods slowly, fork sliding through the cake, happy to have his first relatively quiet moment in the past few hours.

“You’re such a softie now.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” he sneers, but a grin breaks through. 

His best friend smiles wide, frosting at the corners of his mouth. “Proud of you, Tsukki.”

“So you’ve said. About a hundred times this week. Or just tonight.”

“Still true.”

Tsukishima shifts his weight from foot to foot and shrugs. He readies another bite of cake to shove on top of the feelings welling up in his chest again. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It absolutely is. You two managed to take an idea you both scrawled in a notebook one night in Yachi’s apartment and turn it into this whole, this whole, _thing_ with story arcs and great characters. And fans! It’s really awesome.”

Tsukishima blinks quickly a few times, that stubborn sting refusing to go away. It’s so frustrating to be this potentially emotional over so little. He reaches up a hand, pushes up his glasses, and pinches at the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow breath.

Yamaguchi stands there quietly eating cake, letting Tsukishima have his moment.

Then Tsukishima inhales sharply and lets the words he wants to say leave his mouth in a rush all at once, a river of vulnerability breaking through the dam before he shuts it back up tight-

“Thank you for supporting me all the time. I wouldn’t have done any of this without your encouragement."

He scrunches his face up tight, shutting his eyes and forcing everything back inside. When he looks back up, he fully expects to see Yamaguchi a bit choked up and he’s exactly right.

Yamaguchi sniffs, his lips pinched together in a tight line. When he speaks again, his voice is shaky, but he’s smiling. “You big sap. You better cut this out or I’m going to start expecting much deeper late night friend talks.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “this is a once a year thing. It’s done now.”

“No-” Yamaguchi yells dramatically, “not yet! Too soon! I need to ask you a million questions about your feelings on _everything_ before the well runs dry.”

“Nope. Gone. All dried up.” He chuckles. He puts his last bite of cake into his mouth to drive home his point.

Yamaguchi’s eyes dart around Tsukishima’s shoulder. His grin grows wider. “Probably not a moment too soon.” He raises his eyebrows. “Someone’s here for you.”

As Tsukishima’s head spins behind him he hears Yamaguchi say, “though I bet he’d like to see sappy Tsukki, too.”

Yachi catches him first. Tsukishima sees her ponytail bop through the crowd and land in front of Kuroo. From this distance he can’t hear what they’re saying, but watching the way Kuroo’s face lights up when he sees her is pleasant enough. She’s been bubblier than normal this evening and it’s clear from Kuroo’s features that he’s not immune to Yachi’s unique brand of delightfully awkward charm.

Kuroo looks up, his eyes scanning the crowd as Yachi points to where Tsukishima is standing. He quickly sets down his empty cake plate on the nearest surface and stares back. He thinks about waving, decides not to, but his hand is already halfway up, so it just sort of hangs there while he half-smiles as Kuroo comes closer.

He scoots in beside Tsukishima and greets him and Yamaguchi with a big smile that does little to hide tired eyes. Yamaguchi’s quick to re-introduce himself excitedly.

“Good to see you again, too! Sorry I’m later than I wanted to be. Shop. Band. And another early and crazy day tomorrow.” He casts a side glance at Tsukishima. “You know the drill lately. But Yachi tells me there’s some cake left, so it’s all good.”

Tsukishima can feel himself bristling at the mention of Kuroo schedule so he tries to push it off, “It’s fine.”

“Agh, thanks,” Kuroo groans before he puts that big grin back in place, “just bummed I couldn’t be here sooner to celebrate with you, but I’m always happy to squeeze you in.”

And that definitely rubs Tsukishima the wrong way. He knows Kuroo means well, but that knot starts to twist in his stomach again.

He shakes it off. “There’s very few things cake can’t fix.”

Yamagchi and Kuroo start talking about the cake but his best friend quickly moves on to what must be a list of things he’s been dying to ask Kuroo about since Tsukishima started seeing him, about the band mostly.

It puts him back at ease, watching the two of them interact. Yamaguchi’s always very, _very_ excited to meet anyone that Tsukishima’s interested in, but there’s absolutely been a little extra interest in this thing with Kuroo. He’s kept his questioning to a minimum, Yamaguchi understands that peppering him with questions will get them nowhere, but anytime Tsukishima’s mentioned something about Kuroo, it’s been impossible to ignore the way Yamaguchi’s eyes get a glimmer of enthusiasm.

As the two of them talk, Tsukishima feels Kuroo’s hand slide around his back and settle on his hip. His hand is warm and he lets himself lean into the touch, content to listen to Yamaguchi excitedly chatter about everything that he’s kept inside. And it’s nice when Kuroo laughs because Tsukishima can feel it rumble into him, too.

Later, with cake in hand, Kuroo winds his way through the room wielding his very specific brand of charisma. Even though they’re Tsukishima’s friends, Kuroo is the one leading the way, making sure he properly meets everyone there.

He makes sure Tsukishima’s with him the whole time, though, always casting a glance over his shoulder to see if he’s following or placing his hand on his lower back.

While they’re all talking, Kuroo’s hand will slide into place and he’ll say something like, “my favorite part in the story was when--” or “Oh yeah, I’m super proud because--” and Tsukishima’s whole body will relax, despite the praise and attention. The always-present tension in his shoulders drains away and is replaced by an odd stirring of calm and keyed up feelings that only grow stronger whenever Kuroo leans over to whisper in his ear something about how good Tsukishima looks tonight.

By the end of the evening, though, Tsukishima is completely and thoroughly done with being around people. His bubble of energy he willed into being before this is long gone. If it wasn’t for the increasingly suggestive comments Kuroo kept whispering in his ear giving him a bit of a thrill every few minutes, he’s pretty sure he would have left.

With his hand on Tsukishima’s back, Kuroo whispers, “I wonder if we could continue celebrating, just the two of us.”

His voice is just a little too loud and Tsukishima’s glad that people are busy cleaning up and heading out. “What’d you have in mind?”

His warm breath tickles Tsukishima’s ear. “Can I come back to your place? I didn’t bring a bag like you did last time but I can just steal your clothes again.” He presses a quick kiss on his neck. “I like that better anyway.”

Tsukishima can’t remember the last time he got this riled up just by being around someone. His last relationship had a different kind of steady, slow passion, like warm embers that never quite became a fire. But there’s something about when Kuroo is close to him now that makes Tsukishima abandon all rational thought. All the analyzing, the overthinking, that nagging pinch in his stomach that comes back every now and then? That’s a problem for the morning.

 

***

 

By the time they make it to Tsukishima’s front door, his mind is already dizzy with anticipation. As he unlocks it and steps inside, he tries to clear his mind a little, regain some of the composure he’s most certainly lost during the train ride over here with all the quiet sexual tension between them.

He takes a deep breath once he’s inside and forces himself to settle back down. It’s easier in his own home. At Kuroo’s he was surrounded by him in every inch of the apartment, but here at least, it’s his own space.

He takes of his shoes and shuffles in towards his open kitchen and living room space. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.” Hands slide around his waist and Kuroo’s pressing his chest against Tsukishima’s back, his chin settling on his shoulder. He hums as he starts to kiss and nip along Tsukishima’s neck.

Tsukishima’s eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head to the side, exposing more of his neck. He reaches his hands behind him to thread his fingers through the locks of Kuroo’s wild hair.

Being held like this, Kuroo makes Tsukishima feel like more than someone to fool around with. Kuroo makes him feel _desired_. It’s different. It’s new. It’s a heady feeling that makes him feel light on his feet and he knows there’s no sense in fighting it anymore. He doesn’t want to.

He rolls his hips back against Kuroo’s and is rewarded with a growl in his ear. “Couch or--”

“Bed,” Tsukishima answers, the confidence he finds in being wanted coursing through his body.

Kuroo nips at his neck, then replies, his voice thick, “your wish is my command.”

Tsukishima twists in his hold and kisses him, hands tangled in his hair or groping at his clothes and wishing they weren’t there. They tumble together towards Tsukishima’s bedroom, him guiding as Kuroo stumbles backwards, holding on to him and kissing him back, matching Tsukishima’s hunger for release of all this thrilling tension that’s built through the evening, through the whole week if he’s honest. He’s thought about their last night together in flashes while he tries to focus on work or when he’s zoning out of TV and it all comes rushing back now that Kuroo’s here, his body warm and pressed up against his own.

They both laugh against each other’s mouths when Kuroo’s shoulder smacks into the doorway. There’s something in the way that Kuroo’s looking at him, goofy and grinning but also eyes alight with a fire and a passion that makes him want to say something. Something big. Instead, he kisses him back, ending the moment and taking them back to a place where he knows what he wants.

The backs of Kuroo’s knees hit the bed and there’s a loud, disgruntled meow. Lit dimly by the bits of light streaming in from the living room is a circle of warm, cozy cat.

“Oh my god,” Tsukishima groans, “off the bed.”

He moves an arm to shoo him, but Kuroo slips away from him first, bending down to speak to him in a ridiculous voice, “it’s a baby! Hi, Mister.” Kuroo carefully reaches out to pet him and Mister stretches and bumps his head against his hand, welcoming the attention after hours without any.

“You little mood killer,” Tsukishima clicks his tongue.

Kuroo replies, his voice still stuck in cat-mode, “no, not ruined, just a little break so I can shower my love and attention on someone fluffy for a minute.”

Tsukishima inhales sharply at the word _love_. Hearing it from Kuroo’s lips brings the stomach knots back, only now maybe it’s like having butterflies in his stomach, the good kind of nerves. The nerves that push him to do things.

“Seconds, not minutes.”

“Oh alright,” Kuroo agrees and explains the situation to Mister, “I’d very much like to see your owner with less clothes on and I think you need to leave first.”

“The monster must go,” Tsukishima says, squeezing between the two to pick up his cat and dump him outside the room, shutting the door quickly.

Now it’s pitch black, spare the remnants of the streetlight outside trying to creep in through the crack in his curtains. He can’t see Kuroo well, but he can feel him, can feel the way his skin tingles as he gets closer, right before they fall back together in the darkness. When his knees hit the bed again, Kuroo switches their positions and pushes Tsukishima down onto his mattress.

“This entire week,” Kuroo says, his voice thick and deep as Tsukishima listens to the rustle of fabric as he takes off his shirt, “I’ve thought about how you want me to take charge.” Kuroo settles between Tsukishima’s legs hanging off the edge of the bed and bends down, boxing him in. “And it’s so stupid sexy I’ve had trouble focusing, I need you to know that.”

“Not hard to make you lose focus then.”

“Or you’re just that hot.”

“Or you’re just that simple.”

Kuroo leans in again to bite at his neck.

Tsukishima laughs, sliding out of the way. “Cut it out.”

“Really?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow, staring down at him, voice already low and husky.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes to the side. “No, you don’t have to stop.”

Kuroo grins wide like he’s won a prize and he mouths along his jaw before kissing him again.

“You ready?” He asks, his breath warm on Tsukishima’s skin.

“Yes,” he answers because he knows Kuroo needs to, wants to hear that word.

Kuroo uses his leverage from where he’s standing next to the bed to press Tsukishima down into his bed while he kisses him purposefully, deep and slow. 

Tsukishima lets go of as much of himself as he can, his hands clinging to his bare back. When Kuroo begins to pull away, Tsukishima digs his hands in harder, pulling him in.

Kuroo laughs softly, but doesn’t go far. He says nothing as his hands trace along the sides of Tsukishima’s face, reaching for his glasses and carefully removing them. Then Kuroo kisses his way down Tsukishima’s clothed chest, and when he gets to the bottom of his sweater, he slowly tugs at the fabric as Tsukishima arches his back, letting Kuroo slide his warm layers from his body. Gradually those lips kiss his way back down Tsukishima’s body, hands working at the button on his jeans.

With the heat of Kuroo’s fingers on his body, his breath on every inch of exposed skin, he feels like a present being carefully unwrapped. He closes his eyes in the dark room, focusing on the heady feeling of it until his jeans hit the floor.

His mouth parted, he opens his eyes and props himself up on one elbow. Now he can make out the dim shape of Kuroo’s muscular form as he slides his own pants down to the floor.

“You can lose the briefs, too,” Tsukishima says, a smirk in his voice.

Kuroo’s all too quick to comply and then he’s settling back between his legs, fingers tracing the edge of Tsukishima’s waistband.

Their eyes meet, and there’s a question in Kuroo’s eyes, his hands stilling on his hips.

Tsukishima nods, feeling his breath hitch in his throat.

With the last of his clothes on the floor, Tsukishima shuts his eyes and tries to not think, _just feel_. He can feel his muscles tightening up as Kuroo’s body weight dips into the bed on either side of him, but it’s not apprehension. Not like before. It’s like he wants too much, too quickly, like his mind is racing ahead and not just here, and now. His thoughts are racing and then Kuroo’s mouth finds his and there’s quiet.

Now there’s only Kuroo’s soft lips moving with his. Kuroo’s body hovering just above his, his strong legs around his waist. Kuroo’s free hand caressing his side, thumb circling the muscles there. Kuroo’s breath shuddering when he wraps his legs around Kuroo’s waist, inviting him closer.

They fall together and the whole world is now just the sounds of Kuroo soft but ragged breaths and the touch of their bodies moving together.

Kuroo’s hand glides along his side, down his thigh and grips into the muscle there. Tsukishima’s mouth falls open as Kuroo pulls back just enough to lick his lips and ask, voice gravelly and low, “Can I fuck your thighs?”

Tsukishima catches a moan in his throat as Kuroo stands again, only to kiss and nip at his thighs while he waits for an answer.

He pictures it in his mind, Kuroo slick and sliding over him, between him, and he shivers out a breathy, “yes.”

“Where’s that giant lube bottle of yours, Tsukki?” Kuroo purrs, a laugh in his voice.

Tsukishima kicks at him with his leg. “Bedside table. You have terrible comedic timing, you know.”

He hears Kuroo chuckling to himself as he rustles through the drawer, but he doesn’t reply.

Tsukishima worries that his grasp on the mood is thinning, but Kuroo returns and grabs hold on Tsukishima’s legs, lifting them up with no effort at all, and that bit of manhandling has him squeezing his legs together and relaxing back into his sheets.

Kuroo starts to slide between his thighs and Tsukishima crosses his ankles, creating a tighter space. His lips part on a silent gasp when he feels Kuroo sliding through and along his own waiting cock. Slowly, he slips back out, dragging himself along Tsukishima’s length. The next time he starts lower, driving between his thighs and pressing against him.

Tsukishima’s hands fall to either side of him, hands twisting in the sheets. Kuroo finds a slow and steady pace, thrusting between his legs and sliding their cocks together. He can hear Kuroo moaning and he knows he’s not far behind. He keeps his voice locked in as long as he can, but it rumbles out from his chest, a deep moan.

Kuroo pulls back farther and his cock drags against Tsukishima’s hole before sliding back between his thighs. He gasps, his back arching against the bed and his hands twisting his sheets into knots. Kuroo finds his regular pace again, but he continues to tease, rubbing all the right parts to make Tsukishima think of more, how he wants _more_.

“Kuroo,” he groans, feeling his heat press against his entrance again before slipping back into place. At the sound of his name, Kuroo drives in faster, his pace more frantic than before, the friction making Tsukishima’s mind race with all the things he wants to do now.

“Kuroo,” he says again, louder, needier.

His hips still and Kuroo, a groan on his lips, hair a mess, looks down at Tsukishima from around his legs. He slips out from between him and as he lets himself fall, Kuroo’s cock lightly slides over his hole again.

Tsukishima whines, balling his hands into fists in his sheets.

“I want - I want -” he struggles to find his breath to make the words, “I want to feel you.”

Kuroo visibly swallows, then his mouth falls open, breathing deeply, “Are you sure? That’s really what you want?”

“Yes, I-”

A wicked grin crosses his lips and Kuroo uses his free hand to tease his cock around Tsukishima’s rim.

“Yes,” Tsukishima shouts this time, breath heavy.

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

“Apparently I do.”

Tsukishima again feels the mood start to drip away again when Kuroo follows his directions to find the forgotten box of condoms in the back of his drawer. Doubt starts to creep in and he fights it, holding on to everything he just felt. He lets his head hit the mattress. He closes his eyes and puts himself back in that place and lets his legs fall over the bed, his knees catching on the edge. _Relax._

With his eyes shut tight, he feels Kuroo near before they touch, little pinpricks on his heated skin.

Kuroo pushes his legs wider and settles in between his knees. He bends and kisses Tsukishima’s stomach as his finger circles his entrance.

Tsukishima tenses. It’s cold. He’s suddenly unsure, but when Kuroo pushes in just barely his body remembers and his mind catches up. _I want him. I want this_. His finger slides in deeper and he encourages him, knows that Kuroo needs to hear him again say, “yes, go. Please.”

Kuroo doesn’t need encouraging after that. Tsukishima puts his feet on the bed, knees up, so he can press back against his hand, guide him deeper. No thinking. He just feels. One becomes two. Kuroo twists his fingers just right and Tsukishima grits his teeth to keep from crying out. Kuroo captures his mouth in a messy kiss, whispering praise as he fucks Tsukishima with his hand, two fingers becoming three.

“You’re so doing so well, babe. Gonna make you feel so good.”

He pants into Kuroo’s open mouth, trying to kiss him back but unable to stop the sounds leaving his body. He finally manages to put together enough coherent noises to say, “I-I’m ready. Fu--”

His fingers slip out and Tsukishima desperately wants to be filled again, but this time with something more. He braces himself, hands above his head and gripped into his sheets. He tells himself to relax. To breathe. Again, he wants too much, too quickly. _Be here. Breathe_.

He feels Kuroo, all of him, pressing against him and he inhales sharply. “Now. I need--”

Kuroo starts to slide in slowly, teasingly slowly. Tsukishima’s back twists against his bed, wanting more, wanting it now. He feels every slick inch as Kuroo slips inside. “Going slow, babe,” Kuroo groans, “wanna feel all of you.”

Tsukishima moans, wanting to tell him to give him more, do it now, but the words won’t come. He breathes deeply, readying himself for more, but Kuroo stops.

“What? Why’d you-” he whines.

Kuroo laughs, the sound deep and dark. “Giving you time to adjust.”

“I don’t need it, Kuroo. Just--”

Kuroo slams in the rest of the way and Tsukishima yells out, “God yes, don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” Kuroo swears, out of breath. His hands grip into Tsukishima’s ass and he hoists him higher, his hands sliding down his legs, pulling and hooking his knees around his shoulders.

And Kuroo gives him what he wants. At this angle, he pounds into Tsukishima’s deepest parts and all he can do is move with him. His back rubs against his sheets with nothing to hold on to except Kuroo’s shoulders. It’s perfect. His mind is empty, nothing but the sounds of their moans and the slick slide of Kuroo driving in and out of him.

“So tight. You’re so good, so good,” Kuroo pants and Tsukishima opens his eyes enough to take in the sight of him, mouth open, hair falling, eyes shut with pleasure.

Kuroo’s groans grow louder and he keeps swearing out nonsense. Tsukishima does his best to keep his voice held in, but he can’t, he can’t anymore and his moans get louder, too.

Then Kuroo stops. Seated inside him. Body still.

“Kuroo, what--” His eyes snap open and he lifts his head.

Kuroo’s looking down, sweat glistening on his face, his chest, and he smirks. “I seem to remember someone doesn’t like cumming right away.”

He lets his head drop heavy on his sheets. “Damnit.”

“I’m here to serve,” he says, playfully, but the tone doesn’t match his actions. He slides slowly all the way out, his hands digging in to Tsukishima thighs, and then he slides back in. Painfully slowly. Out and in, over and over.

Tsukishima’s legs twitch. “I swear, I’m gonna--”

Kuroo slams back in. “Do what?”

He chokes on a deep moan and presses the side of his face against his bed, hands again searching for anything to hold onto as Kuroo sets a blissful, brutal pace again.

Kuroo’s hand moves to stroke an orgasm out of him and through his heavy breaths, Tsukishima manages, “No - no, I can - I can like this.”

“Fuck, Tsukki,” Kuroo moans, and he shifts his hips, angling to thrust in harder now, the pace still fast and perfect. His back arches and he pushes back, still wanting impossibly more as he feels his orgasm building inside, his legs starting to shake.

Kuroo groans, “You like that? God you’re hot. So good for me, Tsukishima.”

And that’s enough to send him over the edge. He comes, tightening his legs around Kuroo’s back as he continues to pound into him.

He closes his eyes and mouth and hums through the overstimulation, loose and content on bed, riding the waves Kuroo’s erratic pace as he nears his own release.

Tsukishima opens his eyes to watch him as it hits. The sight of him, head thrown back, moaning up towards his ceiling with his eyes shut tight as his orgasm takes over is worth it.

Kuroo takes a moment to catch his breath and Tsukishima closes his eyes again, enjoying that last bit of that good feeling before his brain reboots.

He feels Kuroo flop onto the bed beside him, both breathing heavily.

Kuroo’s the first to move again. Turning onto his side, he presses a messy kiss to Tsukishima’s cheek, then his lips.

Tsukishima’s eyes flutter open to see Kuroo staring at him with a wide grin.

“What?” Tsukishima asks, pinching his brows together

Kuroo shrugs. “Dunno. Just feel like smiling.” Then he kisses the top of Tsukishima’s nose before hopping off the bed to clean up.

Tsukishima feels himself go red all over, a blush rapidly spreading over his cheeks, down his neck, to his chest. He pulls a sheet on top of him to hide it, just in case.

_How the hell does that fluster me more than anything we just did?_

 

***

 

In the morning, Kuroo’s quick to head out for another non-stop day.

Though the morning chill seeps in through his open door when he leaves, the long kiss Kuroo gave him before he left keeps Tsukishima warm while he starts the rest of his day.

With a strong cup of coffee in hand, Tsukishima sits on his couch, eyes staring holes into his wall.

 _Fine_ , he says to himself, _I want this to go somewhere. I don’t want this to end anytime soon._

He sighs, taking another sip and wishing he’d put more creamer in. It doesn’t taste right.

_But he’s busy. He’s exhausted. And I know how I get when I feel shoved in the background._

It’s been in the back of his mind all week when Kuroo didn’t text as much, missed a late night chat here and there, talked about squeezing him in to his busy life.

He tries to tell himself that it’s not the same as last time, not exactly. Kuroo’s not moving overseas. He’s not ignoring him and missing call after call. But he can feel it. Growing in his gut. There’s a bitterness there. A wound that never healed and wants to reopen, consume him again.

It’s doubt, it’s fear, wrapped in a disguise of self-preservation.

And this thing with Kuroo is too new. They’ve not talked about anything, not really. Maybe it’s not time to rush full steam ahead. Maybe they need to keep taking it slow or hit the brakes for a little while. Not to end it, no, to save it.

So it lasts.

He takes a big sip of his coffee.

_I have to figure out something. I have to talk to him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HOLY MOLY, I HIT 100K! ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)
> 
> Ah, the joys of fanfiction. If I want their intimate scene to be way too long, I can just let it be that long because yessss I want it. There's a definite shift occurring in their relationship but, oh, oh what's next? There's stiiiiiiiill quite a few chapters left, so, hmmmm...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the update! Thank you to all of you lovely readers. You give me encouragement when I feel stuck and have no idea HOW TO FINISH WRITING A SCENE. I power through so I can share, cross my fingers, and hope you like it, too.
> 
> Have a lovely day, friends!


	24. Fan for life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo's POV  
> Kuroo spends time with family, gets ready with the band, and finds time for Tsukishima as the tour's start date gets closer

No matter how crazy things get, Kuroo will never cancel his Sunday plans with his dad. Sometimes it’s dinner, other times it’s lunch, or it might even be a quick catch-up over a few beers, but it’s been a constant in his life for years now. It anchors him to the present. It’s a reset every week.

But it’s still hard to turn down Tsukishima’s spontaneous invitation to go get dinner after the particularly wonderful night they shared this weekend. 

 **Tsukki [17:24]:** I know it’s last minute, but are you free tonight? Maybe we could grab dinner somewhere?

 **[17:32]:** AH! I’d really like to go  
**[17:32]:** really really  
**[17:32]:** but I promised my dad I’d hang with him  
**[17:32]:** and I’m already here  
**[17:32]:** elbow-deep in dough  
**[17:32]:** he’s got me making pasta from scratch  
**[17:32]:** and apparently I’m doing it all wrong

He wipes off his hands on the kitchen towel hanging beside him and takes a selfie of him and his black band t-shirt covered in flour. He takes a few more, exaggerating his wink a little more each time.

“More cooking, less flirting,” his dad chuckles as he steps into the kitchen with a handful of herbs he’s just plucked from his overgrown window herb garden in his office. He peers over his son’s shoulder and nods approvingly, “this batch looks better.”

“I can’t believe you made me toss the last clump.”

“You calling it a _clump_ is precisely why it had to get tossed. It was unsalvageable. It would have ruined my pasta maker.”

Kuroo regards the well-loved machine with fondness. His dad uses it so often, it doesn’t even get put away that often anymore. His grandmother bought it for his dad years back when she decided her son and grandson consumed entirely too much frozen pasta from a bag. She taught them how to make their own Japanese staples - soba, udon, ramen noodles that don’t come crunchy. But she also let them in on her own imagined recipes - some Italian-inspired, some entirely from her own mind.

“I’ll have to buy you a new one when I’m famous.” Kuroo grins. It’s certainly seen better days.

“You don’t have to do that,” his dad replies, shuffling through the pantry for ingredients.

“But I want to!”

“Well, in that case,” his dad pokes his head back out of the pantry and winks, “I want a new pasta maker and someone to come fix that hole in the fence.”

“Whoa, dream big, dad.” Kuroo smirks, washing his hands in the sink. “That all you want?”

“That and tickets to all your shows, you know, just in case I can make it to wherever you are that night.”

“Done deal. But you already had that.”

“Thanks, little bud,” his dad ruffles his hair as he passes, dumping spices on the counter top. “Still hate that I’m not sure which one I’ll be able to get to this time around. But one, for sure. Depends on work at the shop. Being part owner means half the glory, all the work.”

“You don’t have to worry. You’ve been to a bunch before.” Kuroo knows how hard his dad works. The last thing he wants him to do is spend any extra money to get on a bullet train south for one night, just to stay up late and watch him open for another band. “And we’re just the opener. It’s not a big deal.”

“The hell it’s not!” his dad passes by again, but instead of hair-ruffle, Kuroo gets a playful smack to the back of his head, “it’s absolutely a big deal. I can catch a train somewhere. It’s not that far. Plus I haven’t left Tokyo in so long. Might be nice.” He sighs, tipping his head back, “Guess I’ll have to keep being used to being the oldest person in the room.”

“That just makes you extra cool.”

“Even I know it’s dorky to call your dad cool,” his dad smirks. Then he grimaces, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know how cool I feel when the son I raised to be a gentleman takes his shirt off and spins it around his head on stage.”

“Can’t help it. I’m a showman,” Kuroo shrugs, throwing his arms wide.

“Runs in the family,” his dad laughs.

Together they make enough pasta for way more than the three mouths that are going to eat it tonight. His dad continues to make sure both him and Kenma take home enough to have at least one or two meals during the week.

Kenma makes it over after a stream. He’s late, but they kept his dish warm and ready for him whenever he could get there.

When he arrives, he’s carrying bags under his eyes that look similar to Kuroo’s own. He greets Kuroo’s dad and thanks him for the food, a genuine smile on his face.

“Long day?” Kuroo asks as he sits down at the dinner table at his regular spot.

“And night. I ended up doing some spontaneous streams because of all the new DLC that’s out and I’m tired. Also,” he points his fork accusingly at Kuroo, “you gotta stop dumping a whole bunch of Glory Days’ videos at once. I step away for, like, two days and you already ruining my hard work.”

“What? They were good. Soga did a great job editing.”

“It’s not the editing that’s the problem. It’s your posting times. You have to stagger them so you hit at different peak times throughout the day. I showed you the chart! And I-”

“Alright, enough shop talk, boys. It’s dinner. You know the rules. No devices. No shit I don’t understand.”

Both men dip their heads in small, apologetic bows, just like they’ve done for over a decade now. It used to be they couldn’t talk about video games and Kuroo’s crushes at the table. Now it’s no work talk and Kuroo’s dad wishes he’d talk more about who he’s seeing.

“You know, the offer still stands for me to help with your shop’s online presence,” Kenma says to Kuroo’s dad after swallowing down another huge bite of pasta.

“And, as always, I appreciate it, but we got our own thing. Cars break. People bring them. Sometimes we stuff flyers in mailboxes. It works. And I ain’t gonna have to work once Tetsu’s famous, anyway, right?”

“Right, dad.”

His dad seems to consider his words for a few moments, then sits back in his chair, arms crossed. “Eh, I’ll still work. It’s a pride thing.”

“Right, dad,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. Only it’s meant both for his dad and Kenma, because his best friend is currently hunkered over his plate like some tiny, angry gremlin. “Did you skip lunch today?”

“Did you?” Kenma grunts in response.

“Fair,” Kuroo laughs.

 

***

 

 **Tsukki [08:46]:** Why, exactly, did you send me 8,000 pictures of fruits last night?

 **[08:51]:** Didn’t you read the message at the start?!

 **Tsukki [08:51]:** No.

 **[08:51]:** Well THAT’S why it doesn’t make sense  
**[08:51]:** go back up to the top  
**[08:51]:** then you’ll see

 **Tsukki [08:51]:** can’t you just tell me?

 **[08:51]:** no  
**[08:51]:** it’ll ruin the whole...  
**[08:51]:** vibe  
**[08:51]:** I’ll wait

 **Tsukki [08:52]:** Are you serious?

 **[08:52]:** （￢з￢）

 **Tsukki [08:52]:** …  
**Tsukki [08:54]:** You were trying to figure out what fruit I like?

 **[08:54]:** NO. What fruit you ARE  
**[08:54]:** and which one I am, too

 **Tsukki [08:54]:** ...why?

 **[08:54]:** because it was very late  
**[08:54]:** and I was very tired  
**[08:54]:** and it seemed like a very good idea at the time  
**[08:54]:** and now  
**[08:54]:** in the cold light of morning  
**[08:55]:** I STAND BY IT  
**[08:55]:** AMAZING USE OF TIME

 **Tsukki [08:55]:** So I’m a kiwi?

 **[08:55]:** a golden kiwi

 **Tsukki [08:55]:** I don’t agree with your reason.  
**Tsukki [08:55]:** I am not sweet.  
**Tsukki [08:55]:** But the rough, brown exterior is fine by me.  
**Tsukki [08:55]:** Also, no, tons of fruit have a rough outside but are nice on the inside. A kiwi’s not special.

 **[08:55]:** How often do you go out   
**[08:55]:** and buy yourself a kiwi?  
**[08:55]:** like maybe if we lived somewhere tropical  
**[08:56]:** sure  
**[08:56]:** but here we get tiny slices on a cake  
**[08:56]:** or a thin whisper of a kiwi on a parfait  
**[08:56]:** and a golden kiwi  
**[08:56]:** forget about it  
**[08:56]:** VERY  
**[08:56]:** SPECIAL  
**[08:56]:** and I’m a pineapple

 

***

 

Hustling to the bus stop, Kuroo swings his travel coffee mug back to pour some caffeine into his body. He’s met with an overly bitter gulp filled with gritty grounds. He swears because this might as well happen this morning. Nothing else has gone right.

He already missed his usual bus because he _somehow_ managed to turn off his alarm, get ready at the speed of light, and rush out of the house, only to realize he had to go back because he left his tablet - a necessity for his last client-filled day at the shop.

On the bus, he chokes down his coffee and promises to find time to treat himself to another cup from a coffee shop at some point today to make up for it. He smiles at an older woman and she says she likes his hair. His day improves a little.

Outside their practice space, Kuroo braces himself for the stone-cold stares and potential lectures he gives Tora when he’s late, but inside he finds a different scene entirely.

Alisa’s in the middle of the old, tattered couch with Oyori and Tora on either side. Oyori’s arms are wrapped around her shoulders as she cries into her open hands. When he enters, Soga looks up at him from where he’s awkwardly standing off to the side, unease written on his face.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

Tora’s sitting on the arm of the couch, his arms wrapped around his knees. He looks over at Kuroo with a sideways, unsure smile. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but shuts it again.

Alisa sniffs, all the sounds of big, wet tears filling the room. “It’s nothing. I’m being a huge baby over it.”

“It’s not nothing,” Oyori says, rubbing her back. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Not this upset. It’s,” she groans, sniffling again, “it’s just a stupid job that I hated anyway.”

Kuroo looks over to Soga for more information. He silently mouths the words “got fired.”

Kuroo’s face pinches in a tight grimace. He’s been there before. Even if the job was the worst, even if he was looking for other work anyway - “that sucks,” he says, walking over to the couch. There’s no room for him to sit, so he stands next to Soga.

Alisa wipes her eyes with her hands and looks up at him. “It’s not the biggest thing in the world. I know that. I have enough other projects going on that I know I’ll be fine.” She sighs loudly. “I just hate that they’re pretending it’s not because I asked off for the band. They’ve always been petty and vindictive, and I really hated working there,” she lets out a snotty laugh, “but they were so mean about it and made up all these reasons to fire me.” Her face scrunches up and she crumples into Oyori’s side. She sniffles again, but the tears have slowed. Now only a few trickle out from her watery eyes.

“I’m really sorry they did that to you. You didn’t deserve that,” Kuroo says softly.

“I know it was a lot to ask for last-minute, but I even offered to take the train back up here in between show days so I could still work a little and they just-” she trails off. “For a part time job they asked too much of me this whole time!”

The rest of the band nods along as she talks, sharing glances and silent conversations about what to say or do next. Tora shrugs and keeps looking at Alisa like someone might look at an injured puppy.

Kuroo runs through the options in his mind. He tries to think if Alisa just needs more time to get it all out, or if she could use a change. He waits a little while as she sniffs and starts to shift from sad to angry, listing more things she hated about the job.

He waits for the moment that feels right and he jokes, “So they’re a bunch of monsters. Want us to go over there and beat them up?”

A laugh gets caught in her throat, the sound choked back and filled with all the gunk that crying leaves behind, but she smiles a little. “No, don’t do that.”

“Fine, but we can spit in their fancy lattes at least?”

“Yeah, that might be okay.”

“They’re idiots for not knowing how great you are,” he adds.

Her smile grows.

Tora sees her smile and swoops in with all his energy. “The best revenge is kicking ass in life, and you’re kicking all the ass right now, Alisa.” He throws his arms wide as he talks. “You’re the super hot lead singer for a band that’s going on tour.”

“You’re were too good for that place,” Oyori adds.

“Clearly. And they’re gonna fall apart without all the extra work you did,” Soga smiles, finally looking a little less stiff.

“I hope so,” Alisa replies, “no, I take that back. I hope they’re fine, just,” she groans again, louder this time, “I hope they experience a minor setback in their business where they ultimately learn to be kinder people.”

A round of subdued laughter works its way around the room.

“You’re definitely way too good for them. And you might be too good for us, too,” Kuroo snickers. “We’re all hell-bent on avenging you and you’re wishing them valuable personal growth opportunities.”

Alisa wipes at her eyes again and Soga dives in to help with a new box of tissues.

After a few more rounds of attempts to cheer her up, Alisa gets the energy to stand and excuse herself to go the bathroom and “fix my dripping face.”

While she’s gone, the rest of them set up their practice space, a strange mood still hanging in the air.

“Is anyone else’s job giving them grief over taking off?” Oyori asks.

“The restaurant was fine. Had to get some folks to cover my shifts for the first few days, but after that, they just left me off the schedule until we get back,” Tora replies.

“Same with the tattoo shop. Like the lack of income sucks-”

“I hear that,” Soga chimes in.

“But at least I had the flexibility. What about you?” Kuroo asks.

Oyori shrugs, running their fingers along the neck of their bass. “It’s kind of impossible to try and hold down a regular job while trying to make this happen. I kind of,” they get quiet, lips drawn in a tight line for a moment, “quit. Is that crazy? I mean, I had, like two vacation days, and they never approve my time off anyway. And it’s like Alisa’s gig. I’m stressed all the time except for when I’m playing and I just thought-”

“Gotta go for it,” Tora finishes their sentence.

“Yeah, exactly. I’m insane, right? You can tell me.”

“I mean, for a lot of people, it probably is.” Soga plops down on the couch next to them. “But a lot of people don’t break the mold and go for something completely different. Some people don't want to. Some people can't. I left my office job to start doing video and sound editing full-time. I was doing it on the side and realized it’s all I enjoyed. I feel lucky it worked out. I know it doesn't for everyone. Still glad I did it, though.”

“Same for me and my former life,” Kuroo says. “I wasn’t qualified for crap with my degree and complete lack of direction, so I worked a bunch of temp jobs until I started focusing on my art more seriously and had that first really good, honest talk with the tattoo artist that did this one,” he points to his rib cage under his shirt, “and stuff started to fall together. It took failure and time. A lot of time, and I’m not rolling in money-”

“Yet!” Tora yells.

“Yeah, yet,” Kuroo chuckles, “but I’m happier. Even if I do feel pulled in about a hundred different directions right now. They're like, good crazy things. You'll do fantastic, Oyori.”

“Your band family's here for 'ya! And I can always get you shifts at the restaurant if you need them when we get back.”

Oyori grins, “that’s good to keep in mind. Thanks, Tora.”

Alisa walks back in through the creaky door and announces, “my face is now snot free! Who’s ready to play?”

Tora immediately removes his shirt while yelling like the hype man he always is.

 

***

 

“And then,” Kuroo draws out the sounds in the words, “I worked on band shit at our bassist’s apartment, came home to eat my dad’s leftovers - the pasta is so good after sitting for a few days, I swear - pretended to work out, showered, worked on some sketches for clients this week - there’s this one woman, so glad I got to fit her in before I had to pause my appointments because her piece is so cool and I’m gonna have to send you the sketch when I’m done - and then I called you!”

Kuroo closes his eyes, his recap of his day done, and sinks back further into his the pillows he brought out to his couch, ready to listen. He could talk to Tsukishima in bed, but he’s half-afraid he’ll fall asleep like that. _Though it was cute that time Tsukki fell asleep on the phone. Would he think I was cute? He did already watch me sleep on Kenma’s stream that one time. He totally think I’d be cute_.

“I think you did more after 5PM than I did all day. It’s been slow without the comic. I just work now, I guess. How awful.” There’s a lightness in his tone that makes Kuroo smile and wiggle his toes under his blanket.

“You’re a fine, upstanding member of society now. Devoted to work.”

Kuroo swears he can hear the grimace on his face when Tsukishima replies, “what a nightmare. You know, I’m starting to think my boss is going to catch on and he’s going to realize I’ve been getting my work done in three or four hours everyday and using the rest of my time to live my actual life.”

Kuroo snorts into the phone, happy when Tsukishima keeps talking about the rest of his day. At the start it was always him texting non-stop or talking Tsukishima’s ear off at night, but now he shares, too. It’s truly, exquisitely nice - and that makes the thing Kuroo needs to ask even worse.

He waits and he waits, letting himself grow sleepy listening to the sound of Tsukishima’s voice on the other end. He sounds sleepy, too, maybe like he’s in bed, and it’s so easy to let his own mind wander to his memories of what Tsukishima looks like when he’s still asleep in the morning.

Their mornings have often been rushed, the opposite of their nights spent at one another’s places. Kuroo’s always had something to do, a reason to dart out after making some time to shower him with gross morning breath kisses and fool around. _I’m only human. Some things can wait_.

But every time he’s woken up before Tsukishima. With his glasses off, his face relaxed and soft, Tsukishima makes it easy for Kuroo to forget about the rest of his day. That sharp wit of his is buried. That smirk that’s always riled him up isn’t present. He’s just… him. And it’s perfect.

He braces himself and waits for a lull. "Hey, I know we made plans for Thursday, but can we push it to Friday? Thursday’s my last full day at the shop and I’m going to be there late. I don’t want to mess up dinner.” He cringes, his body tense. It’s the last thing he wants to do. Even with all the excitement with the band, he wants to carve out time for him. But, better to wait until he can properly spend time together.

“Sure, that’s fine. I know you’re travelling soon. Early next week, right?”

“Yeah, heading down with the other band on Wednesday.” An uncomfortable mix of boundless excitement and a familiar sense of dread settle in his stomach. “I want to see you, too! Before I go. Just, I don’t want want to, like, rush it on a weeknight. I want to-” his voice falters.

“No, I get it. Friday’s fine.”

There’s tension in the quiet that follows and Kuroo sits up on his couch. “So,” he starts, “you pick somewhere for dinner?”

“Yes. It’s nothing special.”

“You’ve had good taste so far.”

“Thanks.”

That dread swims around in his guts. “I’m looking forward to it,” he says, smiling and hoping the tone he wants carries through to the other side.

Tsukishima replies with a short hum of acknowledgement.

And Kuroo’s guts win, after simmering and stewing they spill out everything he’s stuffed down inside.

Kenma’s comment from weeks ago has been playing on loop in the back of his mind, _“If this one really matters to you, is now the best time?”_

_Is he mad? I did say no to hanging out on Sunday, but like, he knows I hang out with dad. But, I don’t know, it was the first time he asked me like that. Out of the blue. Clearly it was a gesture and I made him feel bad. And then I moved this week. No, I’m probably just too tired. It’s fine. He’s sleepy, too. That’s all. He understands that I’ve got a lot going on._

He hasn’t quite convinced himself, but he knows he’s been quiet a little too long and searches his brain for a change in topic. Lands on one. Smiles to himself and tries.

“I left a comment on your last chapter.”

“You did?” Tsukishima’s tone is still flat, but there’s enough of a spark there to keep Kuroo going.

“Yeah, bet you can’t guess which one is mine.”

Kuroo hears rustling on the other end, like Tsukishima’s moving around. “Have you commented on any others?”

“Yep,” Kuroo replies, his lips popping on the final sound. “Akaashi, too, but he’s still way back towards the beginning.”

He can hear the sounds of quick typing and Kuroo grins, knowing that Tsukishima’s logging on to check.

The quiet that follows this time isn’t so bad.

“Okay, so you’re clearly looking for it. What are you looking for to figure out which one is me?”

“A loud comment in all-caps. Maybe some key smashes,” Tsukishima replies immediately.

“Hey! I am an artist. I write lyrics. I’m extremely eloquent.”

“Your text messages beg to differ.”

Kuroo laughs and his feels a weight leave his chest when he hears Tsukishima’s soft, little almost-laugh on the other end.

_It's going to be fine. Things aren't easy, but it's good. We're good._

There’s never a perfect time to fall stupidly in love.

_He’s left before._

Kuroo shoves that last, lingering intrusive thought back down into the depths of his mind. It keeps escaping lately and he’d rather not give it the time of day. He still doesn’t know why Tsukishima disappeared all those years ago. Maybe it really was just drifting apart when their lives diverged down separate paths. So it doesn’t deserve to be thought about, worried over.

_The past is the past._

But he’ll still be careful. He’ll make sure he doesn’t make the same choices he’s made in his last few relationships. He won’t take Tsukishima’s company for granted. He’ll find a way.

Time ticks by far too quickly while Tsukishima scrolls through comments and tries to figure out which one is Kuroo’s.

He doesn’t find it.

But it’s nice to hear Tsukishima read positive comments out loud. Kuroo can tell it’s good for him, too. There’s a marked changed in his tone from the beginning of the conversation to when it starts winding down because they’ve both gotten too tired to talk.

Tsukishima sounds happier on the phone now. A lot like that first time they went out to that little hole in the wall bar and Kuroo asked him about his work. It’s clear that his writing is what brings him joy and Kuroo savors being allowed to share that feeling with him.

_He deserves to be proud of his work._

Kuroo, of all people, understands that.

When they finally say good night, it’s with a lot of yawning.

“Good night, Tsukki. Sweet dreams only!” Kuroo stretches on his couch, ready to move to his bed and try to make sleep happen tonight.

“I’ll dream of murder.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Tsukishima’s silent on the other for a few moments, but Kuroo waits and gives him time.

“Alright," he says, his voice soft and sleepy, "good night, Kuroo.”

 

***

 

**_Anonymous Posted: [23:14]_** _This whole story was such a ride. I can’t believe it’s over, but it also ended perfectly. Just perfectly. I joined while you two were already nearing the end, so I got to binge a whole bunch of chapters all at once. I devoured them. They were delicious. And it was enjoyably immersive to get to do that. But there was something so wonderful in desperately waiting to get the notification that the new comic was up. I would spend the week wondering what would happen next and then finally get to see what you had in store for us. Honestly, it was amazing from start to finish. I can’t wait to see what you create next! Fan for life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello there ヽ(｡ゝω・｡)ﾉ  
> I don't even know what to say, just that there are events in my outline and I want to get to them, so I'm not rushing, but I am finding a whole lot more time in my day to write (aka shirking other responsibilities) because we're almost in the home stretch here. I started this story last summer! I can't believe it. I don't know how I'll feel when it's done, but I do know that I've been so happy to tell this story, even as it grew out of control and took on a mind of its own, and I'm just so freaking glad that you're here with me.  
> See you in the next chapter, friends!


	25. Can we talk about something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima and Kuroo have a talk.

Tsukishima has typed a text message for Yamaguchi at least twelve times at this point. He keeps erasing and starting over and now he’s gotten so far from what he originally intended to say that none of it seems right.

He drops his phone onto the bed beside him and it promptly slips off and clatters on the floor.

He groans because that might as well happen. It’s barely past 6pm and he’s lying on his bed for no reason other than he wanted to. It seemed like a good place for a private pity party.

Lately he’s felt like his walls are coming down at an alarming rate. Whether it’s this thing with Kuroo or the comic ending with no agent, no next project in sight, he can’t seem to keep a tight hold on the emotions he wants to leave well and truly buried where no one else can see them. Until he’s ready. Sometimes he’s ready.

Hugging Yachi at the party was a lot, but he wanted to do it in that moment. Looking back, he wishes he’d waited until they had some time apart from other people. Their friends have been circulating photos of the scene and it makes him feel happy but uncomfortable.

That pairing accurately describes a lot of things right now.

The pity party came right after Kuroo texted him to ask to move their plans.

He knows that if he didn’t already feel so raw and open about not knowing what’s next creatively and being stuck in a day job that he’s slowly realizing he hates, then he probably wouldn’t have gotten so twisted up about it right away.

But also, he knows there’s more to it than that.

He’s thrown away everything that reminded him of his ex, but that asshole left a lot more than just objects for Tsukishima to deal with once he was gone.

And Yamaguchi’s clearly moved on, so he wants to ask what’s left for him to do, what steps he’s missing, but he can’t seem to figure out what to say.

Plus, it’s not his best friend’s job to fix him. Or Kuroo’s either.

Lying in bed with Mister kneading and purring against his leg, he reminds himself to stop being so lame and make a plan.

He’ll start with new ideas for how to attack their agent search, maybe research some self-publishing. Then later, way later, he’ll think of what to do about Kuroo and these stupid, leftover feelings from his last breakup.

Everything can at least have a possibility of working out alright if there is a plan. 

 

***

 

Tsukishima has practiced the words he wants to say over and over in his head. This afternoon he even said them all out loud in front of his mirror, checking to make sure his face matched the tone he wished to convey - straightforward but considerate. He even called Yamaguchi to ask for a pep talk, though he didn’t fill him in on the details.

He was ready.

But now that Kuroo’s across from him, smiling and talking so comfortably in his company, excitedly sharing all the details about the tour, he’s lost all his resolve.

It’s impossible to remember why he was upset earlier this week when Kuroo is telling another dumb joke and making him laugh. He can stretch his face into the most ridiculous expressions and his loud, cackling laugh that turns heads in the restaurant is somehow both one of the worst and one of the best sounds Tsukishima’s ever heard.

The plan was to bring up everything he’s been worrying about over dinner, but the time never felt right. Why ruin a perfectly good meal with an uncomfortable topic? But the longer they linger over dessert, the more he thinks that he’s waited too long, that he’s somehow tricked Kuroo into thinking this is just going to be another fun night, not one where they have to  _ sit and talk about their feelings _ . The worst.

He wins the fight to pay for dinner, but only because Kuroo relents when he offers to buy them some after dinner tea from a shop around the corner.

Maybe that’s his opening. They’ll walk around in the brisk night air, the cold will snap him out of the soft reveries Kuroo’s voice over dinner lulls him into and they’ll get everything out in the open.

Tsukishima knows he’s grown quiet, quieter than normal, as he inwardly stresses. It’s clear from the couple of looks Kuroo’s sent his way that he’s picked up on a change in Tsukishima’s mood, but he simply walks next to him, giving him space to process before he chooses to share, or not.

_ Even more reason to try. _

Just because everything seems so easy right now doesn’t erase the fact that all week he felt off. He knows it’s irrational to get sour over Kuroo spending time with his dad, or moving their Thursday night plans, or not responding to texts like he used to, but the heart refuses to be a rational thing. And at this point, Tsukishima is doubting his brain is the rational creature it pretends to be. Every part of him is conspiring to ruin what could be perfectly fine if he just let it be. Maybe. Probably. Maybe not.

He sighs and Kuroo looks over at him. The night is still young and there are other people walking the shopping streets in pairs just like they are. He wants to push everything aside, let it simmer somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, but he knows where that’s lead in the past. And this Kuroo-thing is worth the discomfort of discussing his feelings out loud with another human being. Possibly. Probably. Definitely.

_ I can do this. _

“Can we talk about something?”

“You mean, like, besides how you managed to find a sweater too big for your frame? It keeps slipping down your shoulder.”

Tsukishima’s hand snaps to his arm and he yanks his sweater back up to cover his exposed shoulder. His eyes dart away from Kuroo’s. “I like it this way. It’s a style choice.”

“I like it, too. You look cozy,” he winks, “and sexy.”

“In a big, chunky sweater?” Tsukishima scoffs.

“That shows some skin. Plus, I know what’s under there.”

Tsukishima feels heat in his cheeks.  _ Why does he have to make this so much harder by being so - so - Kuroo? _

“But yeah, go ahead. What’d you want to talk about?” He smiles wide and looks over, hair hanging in his face, eyes bright and happy… and tired. So tried. The grins can’t cover up those bags under his eyes, the paler tone to his skin. He needs to sleep. Maybe that’s the place to start. It’s jumping ahead a few paragraphs from where he planned to begin, but maybe that’s fine. Go with the flow of conversation. Act natural.

“How are you?” Tsukishima asks.

“Great ‘cause I’m out here with you.” He doesn’t skip a beat.

“Alright, romeo. But really, how are you lately? I know great things are happening but, I’m not blind. You look tired.”

“Ack, Tsukki, are you saying I’m not as devilishly handsome as always?” Kuroo mock-faints with big dramatic gestures, spilling some of his tea on his hand. It’s still hot, judging by the way he quickly wipes it off on his jacket.

And Tsukishima starts to wonder if maybe the charm machine is running a bit too high right now. If this is Kuroo’s way of covering up what’s below the surface.

“I’m saying your schedule is nuts and you’re still managing to do it all.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should,” they reach a less crowded part of the shopping street and Tsukishima’s glad. He slows his steps. Kuroo matches his pace. “But surely it must be taking its toll.”

Kuroo shrugs beside him, “Aw, Tsukki, you worried about me?”

“A little.”

The sincerity seems to knock Kuroo off his game. His grin slips into something softer. “I mean, of course it does, but what keeps me going is that it’s not forever.”

_ Exactly, _ Tsukishima thinks,  _ okay, perfect segue. Now’s the time. _ “Yeah, that’s a good way to think about it. The crazy times come and go, right?”

“Right.” It’s clear from his tone that Kuroo suspects there’s more to this.

Tsukishima’s steps slow almost to a stop, he takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, he lets the words fall out. “I can’t help but think about how you’re being pulled in so many directions and how one of those directions is me. Is us. This. And this is a thing for me because of my own issues,” he cringes as he says it, the past crashing into his present.

_ I have to fix my issues on my own. Kuroo doesn’t need this. He needs time to focus on the band. I need time to fix my brain. Then we’re good. _

_ We’ll be good. _

“My last relationship ended because he moved and was busy with work and this new life and I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing, but it’s where I’m coming from. Last time I waited too long to talk about it, and maybe there was something to save, but by the time we actually did talk, both of us were so bitter, there was nowhere to go.”

He takes another deep breath, willing the rest to be said because it feels important. “I know how I am. How I can get. And I don’t have an answer, I just needed to tell you about the things happening in my awful brain.”

The moment he stops talking, his words start bouncing around in his head, playing back over and over until he can only think about how stupid he sounded, how it was pointless to bring up any of this at all. He doesn’t even have a solution. He just somehow convinced himself it was worth talking about and now Kuroo is uncomfortably quiet.

Tsukishima’s heart rate picks up in the silence. He’s never been one to feel desperate to fill a quiet moment with words, but now he can’t stop himself. Unpracticed words tumble out of his mouth. “I want things to stay good between us, whatever this is and-”

“Whatever this is?”

That’s not what he expected. He chews his lip as he comes up with a way to deal with this deviation and get back on track. “We’ve never talked about it.”

“Did we have to?” There’s something in Kuroo’s voice he doesn’t like, a sharper edge he hasn’t heard before.

“I like to know where things stand.” He replies, trying to squelch the need to be defensive.

“I know how I feel.”

Something catches in Tsukishima’s throat. He nods, says nothing, and keeps his eyes straight forward. He waits for Kuroo to speak, but there’s no follow-up.

Tsukishima can’t find the words to continue because for a second there he thought Kuroo was going to say a very big, very important word and it made his stomach twist into tight knots and his chest squeeze harder and harder until his breaths were shallow.

They keep walking past people, tea growing colder in their hands. The crowd has thinned out but there’s still open storefronts playing upbeat, inviting music. That type of generic, peppy music always grates on Tsukishima’s nerves, but it’s even more irritating now. He needs quiet. He needs to think.

Kuroo is uncharacteristically silent beside him. They’ve grown comfortable enough with one another that quiet moments have grown safe and pleasant.

But this isn’t one of those times. He dares a glance in Kuroo’s direction and finds him looking off to the side, his lips drawn in a thin line.

“You shared what your awful brain does,” Kuroo says after a long while, “so it’s only fair I share mine. I have baggage, too. Would be impossible to make it this far without having any, right?” He laughs weakly, even now trying to keep the mood light.

The laugh fades quickly. In its place is a cold, flat tone. “I haven’t heard the exact words from you yet, but have a sense that I know where this is going because I’ve been down this road so many times before. My life is busy. I know this. I have a lot going on and I have for a long time. Things are a little,” he pauses, “extra right now, but I’m not going to lie. I’m always finding about a hundred different projects to do to make things happen for myself, for the band. And,”

He turns, stopping on the pavement with his back to a closed flower shop. The bright colors and happy display are at odds with the pained look on his face.

“I’m not going to apologize for the hustle I have, but I am sorry if I made you feel shoved to the side.”

“You haven’t. Not really,” Tsukishima says quickly in the wide space between them. “I brought all this up not to make you feel like you’ve messed up. You haven’t. It’s,” he groans softly, shutting his eyes so he can think. “It’s my problem. You’re doing fine, but I wonder,” he opens his eyes again to see Kuroo staring at him intently. “I wonder if now is the best time for...this.”

Kuroo’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but Tsukishima sees it in the clenching of his jaw, the hard set of his gaze.

“I don’t want to end anything,” Tsukishima adds quickly, realizing he’s already misspoken so many times and losing more confidence with each passing second.  “I want you to be able to focus on every opportunity that’s in front of you right now because they’re important and I - I don’t want to let myself get to the point where I feel put in the background, so I thought about a pause. We just hold things where they are now. Where it’s good. And we pick back up when you’re home next month and you’re dealing with less.”

“I can’t just turn off how I feel about you,” Kuroo says sharply, his eyes flashing.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that,” his voice cracks and he clenches his fist to steady himself, “to keep things okay, we just don’t move forward. We pause where we are and take the pressure off of both of us while you’re away. It’s only a month-”

_ I need that space. I need that month. I can- _

“Right, a month, Tsukishima. Not months. Can’t we just be the same but on the phone?”

And that word sets off something in Tsukishima. His mind is filled with too many bad memories of nights waiting up, looking at his phone and wondering why it wasn’t ringing yet. Canceling plans with friends so he can be home to talk, only to be stood up because his ex was out with coworkers, creating a life Tsukishima could never be a part of.

“Yes and no. I’d like to hear from you when you’re on the road. I’m sure you’ll have good stories,” and it’s his turn to try and force out a soft laugh, some kind of smile. “I like when you tell me about your day, I just,” he sighs. “You’ve already been stretched so thin and I don’t want to be something you worry about doing right. Focus on you, I’ll work on my garbage, and it’ll be okay.”

“Will it?”

“What?”

Kuroo’s face falls. He sinks into himself, slumping against the building behind him. His face is framed by beautiful bouquets on display, but they don't match the hard expression carved in his features. His voice is low, serious. “No one sticks around.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he gets louder, swinging a wild arm as he speaks, “that I can’t have everything. When work picked up at the shop, the band suffered. When the band picks up, I lose work at the shop and, I guess, you. Like everyone else. I’ve done this over and over again. I know how this ends.”

Tsukishima doesn’t understand how he’s making such leaps. “I didn’t say end anything. Look, we haven’t been together long enough for-”

Kuroo’s jaw tightens, his hand clenched at his side. “For what? For me to love you?” His voice is shaky. “Because I do.”

The words hit Tsukishima like a punch to the chest. Breathing’s hard and his head spins.  _ Not like this. Not like this. _ He chokes out words, more like sounds, not even sure what he’s saying until it’s out. “It’s too soon.”

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

“We haven’t even said it.”

“I just did.”

“Kuroo, I don’t want you rearranging your whole life for me!” Tsukishima yells louder than he intended, desperate to refocus the conversation where he wanted it go, grasping at the hope that he can steer them back to where they need to be.

He catches himself, lowers his voice. “When I ran into you again, you already had so much going on. And it’s important.”

“So are you.”

“But I’ll still be here.”

“And what if you’re not?” Kuroo stands again, running a wild hand through his hair, tugging on the messy locks. “What if you get just enough distance from me that you realize it’s not worth it? What if you disappear on me again?”

Tsukishima feels like the world’s been pulled out from under his feet. He’s standing there with his mouth open, face slack, but he can’t move, can’t close it. He can only stand there and feel a decades-old guilt seeping into his bones as he stares.

Worry spreads across Kuroo’s features. “Tsukki, shit, I don’t - I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you did.”

“No! I - I, it’s something that happened forever ago. It’s the past. It’s fine.”

“No it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine.” Tsukishima closes his eyes and pinches at the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He almost lets the why, the reason slip out, but he holds it inside. It’s too stupid to say, too necessary. The reason he cut Kuroo out of his life wouldn’t help either of them now. Why bring up more emotions when the ones he had before made such a mess already?

He wishes he could go back in time and not talk about this. Let Kuroo go on his tour and just see what happens. But no, he had to convince himself that talking was the right thing to do. That’s what everyone says. Bottling things up didn’t work in the past. 

_ How did this go so wrong, so fast?  _

“I get why you won’t trust me to stick around,” he cuts off his own train of thought. He knows there’s more. He needs to say  _ but _ and then tell Kuroo how he feels about him. Truly. Honestly. Even if he can’t say that one big, important word, he could try. He could say something.

He says nothing. His body is frozen and all he can do is stand there, obscuring his face with his hand.

“I do, though. Trust you,” Kuroo says slowly.

“Why?” Tsukishima spits back, his skin prickling with guilt. Fear. Regret. He knows how this ends, too. Trying to force something when it’s already messed up just makes it worse in the end. He wants to cut and run from this conversation. Maybe he can try again tomorrow. Or not. Maybe he can just be exactly what Kuroo expects.

But he didn’t learn  _ nothing  _ from the past. It gave him about a hundred new things to be anxious about in a relationship, but he learned enough things not to do anymore.

_ Be honest. As much as I can. _

He worries the hem of his sweater between his fingers as he tries to find the things he wants to say.

“I do feel something. For you.” Gathering bravery, he lets his hand fall and glances up to meet Kuroo’s eyes.

From Kuroo’s pained expression, it’s not enough. Tsukishima knows this. It’s nothing on par with the big, important word he can’t say.

He wants to say that word. Just not today. Not tomorrow. Not soon. But he does.

_ After I’ve dealt with my own problems. After Kuroo’s less stressed. _

“If I didn’t feel something, I wouldn’t have tried to talk to you.”

Kuroo nods slowly, rubbing his hand up and down the arm of his jacket. He looks down at the ground and kicks at the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe.

It’s all too uneven. Kuroo’s opened up all the way and Tsukishima’s not even meeting him in the middle, but he’s meeting him where he can.

“So, where do we go from here?” Kuroo asks, gaze still on his shoes.

“All I I wanted you to know tonight is that it would be okay with me if you threw yourself fully into the band right now. I can take a step back and work on my own hangups and we’ll pick back up when you get back.”

Kuroo hums his acknowledgement but says nothing.

With one final toe-kick into the pavement, he looks up. Eyes tired. Hands hanging loose by his sides. “When I get back, yeah? A little bit over a month. That’s not that long.”

“Right, not that long,” Tsukishima echoes. Saying it out loud makes him again feel that pang of regret.  _ Why did I make such a big deal over something so small? _ But if he was already falling back on old habits, then it was time to say something.

He practiced talking about a pause, a break. He wanted some space to figure things out and Kuroo leaving was the perfect opportunity.

But he didn’t want Kuroo to look the way he does now, shoulders hanging, mouth in a tight, worried line.

“We can still talk. I just - I want to take the pressure off. Both of us. For now,” Tsukishima stutters, repeating himself.

Kuroo opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and nods. He takes a step closer and Tsukishima stiffens, but Kuroo turns and takes a step back towards the way they came. The way back towards the station.

On the walk back through the noisy shopping streets, neither of them speak for a long while. Tsukishima regards the couples passing by new way now. Frustrated. Annoyed.

When they do talk, it’s meaningless. It’s not the comfortable “talking about nothing” they usually do at night. It’s the fumbling small talk that two people attempt when the mood has turned sour. Weather. Movies. TV.

They stop together outside the station. A few feet apart they look at each other, feet shifting uncomfortably in the shadows next to the dark, unlit bike racks.

Kuroo's posture is still slumped, like he’s pulling into himself.

Tsukishima gets the urge to hug him. A frustrated expression is etched onto his face and Tsukishima wants to yank him close and bury his face in the crook of his neck and feel his skin against his own. He wants to kiss him hard and tell him with actions everything he can’t seem to say right. He feels pinpricks at the back of his eyes and hates that he doesn’t understand exactly why his eyes sting. He wants to know why he’s such a stranger to himself and the way he feels.

He swallows hard and asks, “early day tomorrow?” 

What he really wants to ask is  _ can we please forget all the stuff I said and you come over?  _ But the timing is wrong. The mood is wrong. Everything turned out exactly as wrong as he should’ve known it would.

“Yeah, I should probably head out.”

It’s what he expected, but it hits him square in the chest. Tsukishima’s only hope is that being as honest as he could wins out in the end. That a momentary hurt makes things better. Saying everything felt like the right thing to do all week. He has to believe it’s true. He didn’t want to bury what he felt, but it’s also not fair to burden Kuroo with his own mess that he made.

Still, the urge to say that word, that really big word is there. It dances like fire on his tongue but he bites it back.

“If I don’t see you again before you go, safe travels. And send me updates from the road, alright?”

“Will do.” Kuroo smiles. It’s small but it’s sincere. “I promise.”

Hearing the word  _ promise _ from his lips makes Tsukishima’s chest tighten. “I’d send you updates but my life is painfully boring.”

“I still want them,” Kuroo says quickly.

Tsukishima wills his face into a small, tight smile of his own. “I’ll send you pictures of Mister,” he offers.

“I’d like that.”

Kuroo turns towards the station and in a moment of panic, Tsukishima reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t seem to force out words around it.

Kuroo’s eyes widen slightly, then he squeezes his hand back.

They remain like that, away from the crowds, hands clasped tightly together as many silent seconds go by.

Then abruptly Kuroo steps closer and hugs Tsukishima around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispering, “I’ll see you soon, Tsukki.”

Their lips brush together and Tsukishima breathes him in for as long as he can until Kuroo’s pulling back and taking his first steps to leave.

“See you soon, Kuroo.”

 

***

 

Kuroo doesn’t call or text that night.

It doesn’t surprise Tsukishima but he still finds it hard to get sleepy without his voice in his ear.

The weird, tightly twisted-up knots in his stomach don’t help.

He ends up letting Mister sleep on his bed that night. He curls his body around his cat so he can finally get some rest.

 

***

 

Kuroo doesn’t text the next day either.

Tsukishima takes a few pictures of Mister but never manages to press send. He lets Kuroo be, knowing that's probably what Kuroo expects him to do. He wanted some space, but not like this.

_Coward._

After a whole day of wallowing, he makes plans to meet up with Yamaguchi.

He’s got to work on himself. By himself.

But maybe he can’t start this without a little help from his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who've read my multichaps before probably saw something like this coming from a mile away, yeah? It's not that bad, y'all. Just some talky talk that went icky ick.
> 
> Oh my goodness... I always revise chapters a bit, but this one. THIS ONE. My Beta can attest to the fact that I wrote a full 12 pages of this chapter before I erased it all and started all over. And then I rewrote it, like, eighty times after that.
> 
> This one, more than any others, diverged greatly from my original outline. The bits of dialogue I wrote all the way back last June didn't fit anymore. The bones were there, and I'd built to this moment over TWENTY-FOUR chapters, but when it came down to it I had to let Tsukki and Kuroo tell me what they needed to say in the moment.
> 
> When I write arguments, my ideal is for each person to have a totally legitimate POV, one that is probably drowning in self-doubt and fears, but understandable nevertheless (even if you want to shake them both and say NO, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS).
> 
> Alright, enough writerbeast blabbing - 
> 
> Some Big Mood songs for this and one (two? hmmm....hehe) upcoming chapters (it's been a while!)--  
> Overlap - Catfish and the Bottlemen  
> I Haven't Been Taking Care of Myself - Alex Lahey (Oh, Kuroo)  
> Major System Error - The Marmozets  
> Painkiller - Beach Bunny

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and bookmarks never fail to make me smile (and I always reply to comments!).
> 
> Chat with me on Twitter - [@HeyMellieJellie](https://twitter.com/HeyMellieJellie). I scream about haikyuu and post story threads, too!
> 
> This fic continues to update thanks to help from my amazing Beta Reader, [@ZeldaWonderwall](https://twitter.com/ZeldaWonderwall)!


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